


Mr. Crowley

by TheAn0nym0usP3n



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Blood, Blood Addiction, Blood Drinking, Child Death, Death, Depression, F/M, Feelings addiction, Gen, Gratuitous Violence, Horror, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Innuendo, M/M, Mental Torture, Multi, Other, Pain, Physical Torture, Psychological Horror, Self Harm, Suicide, Violence, emotional torture, gratuitous cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 256,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24164977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAn0nym0usP3n/pseuds/TheAn0nym0usP3n
Summary: What if: In this world, Crowley was real and used Supernatural as a means to an end?What if: Mark Sheppard is Crowley, part of their personality and cover?What if: Someone actually wrote the “horrible, evil, messy things” Crowley did, down?What if: A stupid over eager artist met him? One with ideas, and a healthy dose of fear that still isn’t healthy enough.Genre: HorrorWarnings: The twisting of every action made by almost every character, or real life person, into horrifying distortions of their original intentions. Accurate depiction of a demon unrestricted by TV ratings, or maybe if Supernatural aired on HBO. Theological, moral, and philosophical questions that bite just the slightest bit too deep. More stuff that shouldn’t be written down. More warnings/tags will be added as the situation deteriorates.
Comments: 61
Kudos: 3





	1. The Terms and Conditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The views and actions expressed or done by Crowley do not reflect the author’s views nor do they speak for any other real world person represented in this Work Of Fiction.

I knew I should have read the terms and conditions. Nobody ever did these days, they just clicked yes, signed on the dotted line, stamped their name; no one ever read the fine print.

On such a tiny unknown website, I should have known better. Really should have. I mean, I skimmed the thing to make sure it said nothing about selling my data, owning my art, etc. I even unclicked that stupid ‘McAfee’ anti malware thing that sites give you for ‘free’. But…

“You didn’t click on the link in subsection B clause A I see.” I sigh as I look at a man I was sure was fictional about 15 minutes ago. Or at least, was sure his character was. Apparently, he played multiple roles, or he was only taken by a demon recently...as in fifteen years. Either way. Not good. This is not gonna be a sexy fun spooky learning whatever adventure out of some fantasy. This, is gonna fucking hurt. 

“That was a link to a full blown contract wasn’t it?” Crowley just smiles from a chair nearby. The lights above flicker slightly at his presence and the office seems darker even though they remain on. I’m at my desk, turned slightly toward him, far more tense then I was mere moments ago. I turn further to regard him. A demon, a shattering of some of my beliefs and confirmation of others. Things I’d have to examine later... if I lived. I swallow and attempt conversation, anything to interest him, buy time for me to think. “You’re snaring people with online agreements now? What about that so called integrity?”

“New age, new tactics, darling. I’m just trying something I couldn’t before... I see you watched the show.”

“Watching. So how much is true?” The demon smiles at my question, one he probably gets asked a lot.

“Some.”

“Throw me a bone. Which parts?” He looks at me with what is either amusement or disbelief, probably both.

“A bone? I’m not in the practice of throwing bones to mewling pups. And really, just...tell you? What happened to good old fashioned wine, and dine?”

“We’ll get there I’m sure, but for now...I don’t care if the answer is written on a bone you throw at my head, on a piece of paper, on a wine bottle, or whispered in the air, I’d like to know.”

“Really, and l why should I tell you?” I blink, it’s mine turn to smile. I was playing a game here, one I was surely going to lose, now it just depended on how badly.

“Well, you shouldn’t.” I’m rewarded with a raised eyebrow and the slight incline of the head that I saw so often on screen. He was interested, that was the first hurdle I needed to pass to even have a chance of surviving this. I was interesting. If he was anything like the character on screen...he was dealing with an eternity of boredom. If I could ameliorate that, even a little, I might be valuable. I just had to hope it wasn’t my physical and mental duress that helped alleviate his boredom. I cough. “I’d most definitely use any information against you. But I must say, and being completely honest, I’m not good at math; I mean I’m smart enough to know what the chances of me coming out on top are.” The demon stands before me, hands in pockets, interest piqued, silent for the moment, allowing me to dig my own grave deeper.

“Do go on, I’m fascinated by this story of yours.” He looks at me and then at his watch. I gulp, if he had somewhere to be I was dead. I quickly move on to my point. 

“Algebra. Could never remember those equations, so if you’re worried about me drawing those complicated symbols, reciting those incantations, you have no worries. Although I doubt, if you were on the show, that any of those are even remotely close to true.” He smirks and with a snap he’s in a chair across from me, tumbler in hand, filled with something amber, the bottle on my desk nearby. The lights flicker in the empty office, we were quite alone; but the drink, I recognize the bottle and I frown. It was from my house, I had had it engraved for free. I look at him and shake my head.

“You really don’t want to drink that.” He stops with the glass almost to his lips and looks at me curiously. I was in no position to tell him what to do; mostly, probably. It depended on whether or not he had done this type of contract before, the digital kind, or if I was his first. Either way, he knew I was in no position to make threats or demands, so why would I say this? 

“Curiosity, piqued. Tell me why I shouldn’t. It’s yours, it’s whiskey, and I’m taking it.”

“Because it was less than $60 dollars and I highly doubt it’s anywhere near your standards. Let me make you a drink… one you’ve never had before.”

“I sincerely doubt you could take a shit I haven’t seen before, let alone a drink.”

“Considering I made it up last summer, I’m pretty confident.”

“There is nothing new darling. For you to surprise me you’d have to be-” 

“An artist.” He looks at me, and chuckles.

“We have hundreds of those in Hell, what makes you different?”

“Nothing, yet. Except that I haven’t downloaded the file.” At this the demon stops regarding the glass with trepidation and looks at me.

“Excuse me?” 

“I have no clue what I’ve unintentionally sold my soul for, but what I was intending to do was download a font designing program to use commercially for a project. I haven’t downloaded anything yet; I haven’t actually received anything for my soul. Sorry Crowley, but you’re a bit premature, especially if it was just to inform me I had a contract due in ten years.” He stares at me, as still as only something that doesn’t actually need to breathe can be.

“You clicked download.”

“It said 5 hours to download, and I’m working on other stuff. Didn’t want that big of a load to slow my computer down. I cancelled it.” He looks from me, to the computer, to the drink, and back to me.

“...Bollocks.”

“So...you half own my soul right now…. But you can’t let me go, not in this day and age. Not when information spreads so fast, not with the crazies who might actually alert real zealots and people who could muck up your plans. Not now. But I’d really prefer to not just die...so...drink? Talk? Let me pitch my case for you not exploding my head?” He sniffs the glass then pours the whiskey into the trash nearby.

“Just the head? You think I’d leave evidence like that, lying about?”

“Of course not, metaphorically speaking. So I’m assuming the only reason I rate being visited by, if you’re true to the tale, the King of Hell, is that I’m the first one to click on this link? I’m your test group?” He purses his lips and raises a brow, mildly impressed, mildly. I take the silence as confirmation, I hope. “So...drink?”

“Clever cat you are. What do you need?” I laugh at the question and I can see him tense; in anger, confusion, something.

“To drive home so I have the ingredients; I’m not asking you for anything that could complete a deal.” His face reads that unnamed expression that says ‘can’t blame me for trying’ as he walks forward and puts his hand on my shoulder. It's my turn to tense and I take a step back but my fridge is in the way. We are in my kitchen. I stand and breathe for a moment to orient myself, but I'm interrupted by meowing. 

“Who is this?” I tense as the demon spots an almost completely black cat running toward the kitchen at the sound of someone near the food bowl.

“Them, and Artemis and Athena want dinner.” I go over to the cat food and open it to feed the two cats who care very little for my predicament. 

“And my drink? I really think I’m a Bit more important than two cats.”

“You are, I’d like to actually be able to hear what you say. Probably need to focus on each word, not fall into traps, read between the lines. I can’t do that if all I hear is ‘meow meow feed me meow.’” There is another snap and their bowls are full. I look up at the mini chalkboard where I write down if they’ve been fed, so my roommate and I don’t feed them twice, and even that is checked off with the correct time. 4:30. I take a breath and turn to the fridge. The very short journey around the counter has my heart thumping. I grab a grapefruit and tonic water. I go to the cupboard and grab honey. I go to the liquor cabinet and grab gin. I feel eyes on me the entire time.

“So, how much of it is true?”

“Are you Really asking the same question looking for a different answer?” I tense, for a moment I had forgotten who I was dealing with. I needed to slow down, think on everything I said, or I would surely be worse than dead. It was a lesson I never learned, and it was quite coming back to bite me. I take a breath as I get out the juicer and a knife, and then begin to cut the grapefruit.

“Does the show accurately depict your enthusiasm for the game we are currently playing?”

“I beg your pardon? This is not a-” I make a bold move and dare to interrupt him, for the second time that night.

“Of course it is. We are literally playing a metaphorical game of chess for my life. We are dancing around each other’s words like a wolf and a rabbit around a briar patch. I could continue to list similes and metaphors but I believe you get the point. It’s a game, you enjoy toying with people and coming out on top. You take risks, make bets, try new things; that’s how you got to the top, that’s what you need to do to stay there. Thus this new form of contract, which I’ll give you a hint on, for free.” I look at him as I peel some rind from the grapefruit. “Have it send you an alert when the file is opened, or finishes installing, not when the download button is clicked.” He frowns.

“R and D will pay for this.” I smirk, until he snaps his fingers. I have an idea of what that snap was for. 

“No plan ever survives contact with the enemy, first drafts should never be printed, it’s a long road to the final product. You want something that will be downloaded and opened immediately? Try porn.”

“Too busy an industry for a small test run, besides, we already own PornHub.” I raise a brow as the microwave dings, having melted the solidified honey. 

“PornHub? Really? But they do so much for-”

“Yes yes, plowing streets, sex education, blah blah. We don’t run it, we finance it.”

“Why would...oh. I suppose you own the fashion magazine industry too. How many deals has it gotten you, people asking for porn star or model bodies?” He smirks, a new glass of probably better whisky in his hand.

“You catch on quick... for a mortal.”

“It’s a problem. I come up with too many ideas too quickly. I’d like to utilize that, but it’s a hard thing to market.” I grab the shaker and pour in a jigger of gin, all the grapefruit juice from the fresh grapefruit, a fourth of a jigger of tonic, a splash of honey, ice, a bit of the grapefruit rind, and a sprig of fresh mint, then begin to shake. There is a loud meow and a shuffling as my cat tries to rub against the demon I am currently trying to bargain with for my life, and probably soul. Crowley looks at me and pushes her away with a foot.

“This one yours I presume?” 

“Athena. Please don’t kill her for getting fur on your suit.”

“Too much effort for such little reward. Just tell the thing to-”

“She’s a cat. I can’t control her. I doubt even the King of Hell could control a cat. Dogs, people, demons, Hellhounds, sure. But a cat? Nothing can control a cat, but I’ll try.” I pause a moment and hiss at the cat, who murrs and then slowly walks out of the room. I sigh then pour the liquid from the shaker into the empty bowl of the two grapefruits and the king stares at me, at the bold human in front of him. He had killed for less, but I had to keep his interest. 

“It needs to sit to absorb the bitterness of the rind. So…” I take a deep breath and look around my house. Not clean, dishes in the sink, art projects on the table; messy. Not a place to bargain for your life but...here we were. “I’d really like to not die.”

“Most people feel that way, but you have half a contract, signed but not exactly fulfilled.” There is a snap and a chair far more expensive and comfortable than anything I own appears on the carpet of my very small breakfast nook. “So, we have a problem. I can’t collect, I can’t let you leave; you don’t wish to die, but you won’t download the file. What we have is an utter mess.” I take a deep breath. I needed to be clever, I needed to be interesting. Banal, normal, and stupid would get me killed or worse. I take another deep breath and say the words that will damn me forever.

“I’d like to make a deal.”

1 Grapefruit Gin

1 Whole grapefruit. Teaspoon of honey, or to taste. 2 jiggers of gin. Tonic water to taste.

Slice grapefruit in half. Juice both sides. Pour juice back into rinds. Pour in teaspoon of 

honey and gin. Let sit for at least 2 minutes. Pour into glass with a slice of rind and garnish 

with rind. Add tonic if desired. Let sit longer for a more bitter taste.

Virgin: 1 whole grapefruit. Teaspoon of honey, or to taste. Tonic water to taste.

Slice grapefruit in half. Juice both sides. Pour juice back into rinds. Pour in teaspoon of 

honey and tonic. Let sit for at least 2 minutes. Pour into glass with a slice of rind and 

garnish with rind. Let sit longer for a more bitter taste.

Alternate: Add some fresh mint, muddled, for extra zing.


	2. The Loophole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the artist makes herself interesting. A bad decision in the long run.

“And I want a night with the Olsen Twins. But I already made a deal that says I can’t, and you’ve already made one too.”

“A new one of course. And not a 10 years and done deal; I want a contract, I want to sign on the dotted line.”

“What could you possibly offer me?”

“Besides tasty drinks you mean?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“I’m pretty confident, it’s a very well balanced drink.”

“Well balanced is just another word for boring darling.”

“Not if you can taste the flavors And the sum of their parts. But again, it all comes down to how accurate that depiction of you was. I know I’d throw in A LOT of fake weaknesses, while making the power you weild seem….finite but large, powerful, sexy...enticing. And then of course your persona outside the show. Which one is real-“

“You’re rambling.”

“My ADHD meds are wearing off and I’m nervous, sue me.”

“Bring it back around darling, what do you need to know the accuracy of?” I take a breath and open the drawer next to me and rummage around.

“Lot’s of things; your demeanor, wants and needs, if your demon army really is that incompetant and uncreative…” I pick up the razor blade in the drawer nearby and I hear a slight shift in the chair as he annoyedly prepares for a stab. Wasn’t gonna happen. “If human blood really is a narcotic.” I slice a line down my wrist, across the street as they say, just deep enough to weep and look at him for a reaction. There is none, except for the fact that for one moment his eyes break my gaze to look at my wrist.

“And why would I tell you that?” I sigh.

“Because I’d make it part of our deal. I get monthly B12 shots. Drawing a single syringe worth of blood during those, if you infiltrate the health care system, which you have to have done, would be a bonus for you.”

“And why would you do that?” I’m on the verge of hyperventilating, talking fast trying not to think. If I think too much I’ll just degenerate into cursing and paranoia and fear. 

“Sweeten the pot, any way I can. I’m on the losing side here, nothing I do will bring me out on top. This is damage control, mitigation.”

“Well I can’t very well be the top to your bottom if you don’t tell me what you want. Success, less pain, recognition for your art?” I snort.

“That’s all temporary compared to what I’d get in Hell. No, my contract would be really mainly about what happens to me After I die.” Crowley cocks his head and looks at me curiously. This was a rather odd contract request after all.

“Interesting, continue.” He sips from his own drink and yet again I take a deep breath. Big sell time. I’d done elevator pitches, brochures, demos. I’d tried to sell before. It was hard, selling art, selling anything. I was trying to sell to the Best salesmen. I had to succeed, or I’d die.

“I might like to go to heaven, but that’s not happening, is it?” His gaze doesn’t break, he doesn’t blink; it was a stupid fucking question, but I had to ask. “Well, I don’t want to die prematurely, I don’t want to be tortured, and I don’t want to go into the line.” 

“No one does, but what use do I have for you then? In return for what? Your blood? I’ve smelled it, not a particularly good vintage even if I did want it.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m offering my skills as an artist and a creator, now, and after. Most demons want one thing, to fill their vices. They get consumed by them. Most aren’t creative, and if they are, it’s to climb the ladder. Well, I’m already consumed by my vice, and it’s completely in opposition to climbing a ladder. Turning me into a demon might change my vice, it’s not really compatible.” I turn to the grapefruits and pour the liquid from one into a tumbler and garnish it with a rind from the grapefruit. I take a deep breath and pick it up to hand it to the king in my kitchen, but with a snap it’s gone. I turn and it’s in his hand, the previous glass gone. 

Moment of truth, never thought my life might hang on a string soaked in gin and grapefruit juice. He regards it curiously for a moment, then turns his gaze to me and continues the conversation; putting off the moment of truth. Perhaps he was trying to torment me, raise my anxiety, prolong the conversation; who knew, but it did all those things nonetheless.

“And what is your vice, that you say makes you... valuable and rare enough to not be used as a common demon?”

“It’s really not an unusual one. I need and love to create, and I need what I create to uh...need to Know what I’ve created, has left an impression. Whether that is pride, amazement, fear, self discovery, interest, or that it’s just plain been useful, I need to know that. I can’t do that from the top of  _ your  _ ladder; also I have horrid anxiety and really don’t want to be in charge of anything that fucking big. I don’t want fame, except to the extent that it allows me to create and collaborate more, and have the art be appreciated.”

“Rambling again. Overselling, you haven’t actually gotten to the point where I’m impressed with your work enough to see why I need you.” I take a breath as he swirls the pink liquid around in the glass and stares at me expectantly. Here came the test.

“Give me a problem.”

“What?”

“Give me a problem you have right now, and I’ll come up with at Least two possible solutions.”

“And why should I tell you anything?”

“Because we’re in a stalemate if you want my soul. You kill me, my soul goes to heaven since I haven’t actually received anything from the deal yet. I don’t want to die. The absolute Worst thing that happens is you lose one soul if I fail the test.”

“And why should I even consider it? I could have a hound just drag you to Hell.”

“Because you’ve already been here this long, which means you are interested. You like challenges, you want to play the game.”

“You keep referring to a game...I’m not sure I quite understand.” I highly doubted that. He was trying to pull information from me, understand the way I thought of this interaction. Use it against me. 

“I’ll show you the book I’m writing later, all from the ‘villain's’ perspective.” I use air quotes around villain. I had seen his interviews and convention videos. He repeatedly said, when he was pretending to be Mark Sheppard, that Crowley wasn’t a villain. 

“Redeemable villian stories, I thought you said you were creative?” And he finally takes a sip. I look on with baited breath. He blinks, looks at me, and takes another sip. I sweat, lick my lips and talk, trying to be interesting. 

“Nope. Not redeemable, don’t die in the end, hero doesn’t get the girl. There are no heroes, just people twisted by their experiences and lots in life.”

“No one will buy it if the characters don’t develop and change.”

“That’s the first book, second book will be all the horrific results of those changes, third will be bringing in another character and seeing how those horrific changes mold an innocent-”

“Blah-blah. Besides your drink recipe, which I now have, you have yet to impress me.”

“Then give me a problem.” He pauses and looks at me, then drains the drink in his hand before snapping his fingers to refill it with the liquid from the other half of the grapefruit. He takes a sip.

“Better, more bitter.”

“You can get that more quickly if you add more tonic, but then the quinine kinda overpowers some of the other flavors.”

“The more information you give me, the less useful you are later.”

“Again, need my art to be appreciated. If you’re enjoying the drink after I’m dead I’d like you to know all about it so it’ll be at full potential. Now...problem?” He takes a sip and regards me. “It doesn’t have to be a real one, or a current one.”

“Obviously, but I need to find something suitably difficult. Something a demon wouldn’t easily solve, or would take advantage of.“ He pauses and then looks me in the eye. “My addiction in the story. I didn’t want to let go of it completely, but too much was...distracting. The writers let it go, I didn’t. I’m a demon, vices, kinda my thing. So...how would you mitigate that? Two solutions, minimum.” I don’t hesitate, I talk till I run out of ideas, what I’m good at. Coming up with ideas. 

“Mix it with vamp or demon blood to mitigate the human emotions. Try using the blood from someone who had been, or is, the host of an angel, most are particularly numb to human emotion and that could affect their blood, make it more palatable. There are machines that give constant low doses of medicine to patients who need it, fund a company to make a discreet portable one that will give you just enough to give you that tiny bit of feeling. Try primate blood, close relative, smart, but not as evolved. Other means ingesting it could also change the way it affects-”

“Enough.” I stop mid breath and stand still, frozen as he regards me. “That was an easy one...what about… the coming, self inflicted, apocalypse?”

“Which one?” That gets a bit of a chuckle as he sips his drink.

“The one where the planet is dying. We need humans to work together long enough to fix this problem, but you see, we’ve worked very hard to get these schsims planted deeply in your various cultures.”

“The two party system was you, wasn’t it?”

“Guilty as charged, it needed a bit of rewiring over the years, but it’s working quite well right now. Too well.”

“Uhm, find a sop who’s willing to exchange their soul to fix it.”

“You're not that naive. The cause needs to be stopped; we don’t need a bandaid, we need Surgery.” He wasn’t wrong. 

“You need to replace the heads of the companies that are causing pollution-” He interrupts me with a loud exhale, speaking of annoyance and mild regret.

“Most of them have contracts that won’t expire for another 10 years of ‘it’s, too, late’.”

“Then why not help an up and comer replace them, not directly give them a deal to become head, but perhaps give them enough money to buy all the shares in the company...or let them find some incriminating photo.”

“And why would they be any different from the current Schmucks I have at the top?”

“Go young enough, and you have millennials or gen zs who want to help the environment.”

“Yes but they aren’t exactly the type to make deals. And most of those types also don’t want to run a company.”

“Hmmmm...Uh then you need an older person who wants to pass on the company for a long time, for it to stay powerful and in the family. Not their son, but their great grandson too.”

“You mean the family values we worked so very hard to destroy and morph into ‘family isn’t blood, it’s who you choose?’” 

“Why would you...oh, more likely to kill an abusive father if ‘blood isn’t as important as the family you choose.’”

“Bingo darling. I keep saying you catch on quick. Acceptance everywhere; especially in your insular communities, where everyone outside them is wrong.”

“Well, you managed to morph those values, but people still want their adopted daughter or friend’s kids to succeed and have a world where they can live. You demons get to feel good when you damn a soul, humans generally feel good when they help each other.”

“Again, not the type to make deals darling.”

“Then don’t.” At this he stops swirling the drink around and looks up at me with sudden interest.

“What?”

“What’s five… ten, catch free deals for an eternity of souls?” He stares at me as if I’ve gone insane.

“My demons would revolt if I asked them to do... pro-bono case work. I need to give them a steady supply of colorful souls to play with.”

“Then don’t ask them, do it yourself first.”

“I don’t do the boring dirty work any more. I’m King, I delegate.” I shrug and point out the obvious.

“You’re up here now. This is important and interesting, your demons Know it’s important because You’re doing it in person. They are paying attention to the results. If You do pro-bono it will impress upon them the direness of the situation. ‘The KING is doing pro-bono, shit’s fucked if the king is willing to do that. We need to do the same.’ Also, it gives the benefit of rooting out the idiots who Don’t understand and would revolt. If they are that shortsighted they shouldn’t be out making deals in my opinion.”

Crowley stares at me, takes the last sip of the drink, stands, and sets it down on the island. I take a breath and try not to back into the fridge and have a panic attack.

“You’re right. A demon would Never have brought the idear of pro-bono work to me. It’s ludicrous, it goes against all the rules, it absolutely disgusts me.” He stands in front of me, towering over me with just a few inches as I gasp for air. “And it might actually work.” His fingers snap and we are back at the office. I teeter a bit and he watches with amusement as I try not to puke. He sits down in the rolling chair he occupied before and temples his fingers before him, looking at me over them.

“And you, a HUMAN, would feel no guilt working beside a demon to bring souls to Hell?”

“Souls that belong in Hell, belong in Hell. Don’t involve me in seducing innocents who would otherwise go to heaven and I’ll be fine.” I look at him for a moment. “Kill me and have my soul down there right now if you never go after innocents again... and help me publish my books posthumously.” He chuckles darkly and spins himself around in the chair. 

“Not happening darling. You’re not worth that.” I shrug. I had tried. “So...what’s in the contract? Exactly?” He says with a mile long stare into my soul. I breathe a deep sigh of relief. I might actually survive this, against all odds.

“First. The current contract is voided as soon as I sign this. Second. You, or any of your demons, or allies, or hired whatevers, don’t end my life prematurely. I don’t tell anyone about you or that part is void.”

“Obvs.”

“Third: I create, advise, whatever, before and after my death. And after I die I never go in the line, I never go through torture, of any type, for any reason.”

“Ah. What if I need to punish you?”

“For what? Failing? Yeah no. For disobeying? What if the outcome is to our mutual benefit? For attacking or mucking up your other plans? I’d have to be an idiot to do that.”

“The last one. You do not want to interfere with any of the workings or deals of Hell.”

“Or?”

“Punishment is at my discretion when you are in my domain.” I pause. 

“At your hands only, and I’ll be healed after…I don’t wanna be your broken down chew toy.” He raises his brow.

“My Chew Toy...Ready to be intimate now, are we? Did you fancy me that much from the show?”

“Devil you know. I’d rather be finely and carefully sliced up and ministered to by one demon for a short time, because let’s be honest, you have better things to do. I’d rather be tortured for a day by you than carelessly butchered for near eternity by hundreds of demons. Besides, physical torture is not scary. While I believe you could easily change this, inflicted pain has never been a big deal to me. With torture, I know where it’s coming from Crowley, a known quantity is far less terrifying than an unknown one. Internal, not knowing where the pain is coming from? Far worse. Constant eternal pain? If any soul can find a way to go insane without turning into a demon, it’d be mine. I’m already close anyway.”

“You’re just giving me ammunition darling.”

“Which you’ll probably never have to load into your metaphorical gun. Now, is that a clause you won’t barter on?”

“Nothing to hold over your head if you annoy me? If I buy something, I intend to use it. I like to actually play with my toys.”

“So if I don’t agree, I die?”

“Eventually.” I take the veiled threat and agree.

“Fine. If I DISOBEY you and it doesn’t have a beneficial outcome for you I’ll be...uh punished, by Your hand only.”

“You’re making me a very happy man right now. A monogamous relationship, how traditional. Didn’t peg you for the type at all.” I smile a bit and shake my head. 

“You’re married.”

“I never said anything about actually being faithful to you.” I’m still breathing too quickly, choking a bit with fear and holding my weight on the table, but I had to appreciate the wit. 

I needed a pause, a respite, before continuing with the contract or my heart would beat out of my chest. I grab onto somewhere I can lead the conversation that isn’t about me. 

“You said you’re married, as in you. Not your vessel?” Crowley laughs. Something I had never seen in the show, and for good reasons. It is terrifying. 

“Darling, Mark Sheppard has been pushed into the space of my pinky toe since he was 21.”

“As soon as he could legally drink you mean.” He points at me as he paces the room.

“Exactly. Well, more reasons than that, but why should I tell you?”

“So wait…you. Crowley the King of Hell, you’re an actor? And a husband? And a father? Why?” He grins. 

“I’m a demon. All the best crossroad demons are actors. As for family… I never got to experience that interesting happy family dynamic when I was alive, so why not. Lovely woman, lovely kids. I might actually make sure they never see the other half of daddy’s job. Also, and most importantly actually, market research. If I want to corrupt today’s families and youths I need to actually understand them.” I stare. The King of Hell, juggling a family, a job, fans, And his job as king? I couldn’t even imagine.

“Where do you get the time?”

“It helps when one doesn’t sleep. Now, while I am flattered you want to know so much about me, and mildly insulted you think I would actually tell you anything of import, it is time to get back to the business at hand.” I swallow and nod, continuing from where we left off, my heart a little bit calmer. 

“Fourth. If you ever lose your position as king, this contract still stands and Does NOT pass to whomever rules. This is a contract with Crowley, not the King of Hell. I don’t want some idiot who got a hold of some artefact that you need to spend some indeterminant amount of time figuring out how to regain your thrown from fucking with me.” His eyes flash red and his face darkens. 

“I won’t. Ever. Lose. My. Throne. Again.” His voice is hard. I had touched a nerve.

“Permanently? I doubt it. For a week while you figure out how to kill an asshat? Possibly. And I don’t want to be owned by the asshat for that week. Contract with Crowley, not the King of Hell. Fifthly:”

“Getting bored.”

“You’re enjoying most of this, besides, one more major point and we get to the fine details you so enjoy. Fifthly. You ever die, my soul leaves Hell-”

“No.”

“Fine. Then our first task is to figure out how to make you immortal, or prime your protege. Fifth point of business will be left currently open until we come to a resolution...unless…” I have an idea. It flits in my head. It could work, it might damn me further but…he’s already halfway to true immortality, what could a bit more hurt? “Can a contract override other laws?”

“You need to ask a question clearly if you want me to answer.”

“Like when a demon dies, they immediately go to the empty right? If we wrote a contract stating you were to say...come to me? Recuperate in my body? I’d need a meatsuit, or my body to be pretty resilient… Unless we, I dunno, share a soul for a bit, hide in mine? Would that make you effectively immortal?” Crowley blinks. Then looks at me. Then blinks again. 

He thinks for a moment, going over rules, eyes flitting back and forth as if he is reading some invisible book. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks at me, at his drink, at the wall. Finally, he just stares ahead for a moment before turning his full attention to me.

“Well I’ll be damned. The little monkey found a loophole.”


	3. The Chew Toy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a name is found, and a future damned.

Crowley picks up his phone and presses a few buttons on speedial.

“Issether. Darling, my best crossroads hustler. When do the scouts say your next potential deal is coming up? Tonight, crossroads in five? I’m bringing you a contract, use that for whatever the mortal wants. Don’t worry, you’ll still get his soul, just not immediately. No, the idiot needs his soul in him for this to work...probably. I’m just trying a new type of deal and want You to be the first to get its benefits. Do not start without this contract or-...exactly. I’ll see you in four.” I raise a brow. “Well I’m not testing it.” He shakes his hand and a piece of parchment appears. A base contract. 

He frowns for a moment, then as he speaks words appear on the parchment. “If the demon Issether should ever expire, she shall take harbor inside the signer of the contract’s vessel, until such time as she can recuperate and leave.” He looks up and nods at me. “I’ll be back. Don’t-”

“I’m not an idiot. I leave, I die. I talk, I die.” He smirks and shakes his head.

“Oh no, you’ve just made yourself actually interesting. Best and worst thing you could of done darling. Tah.” And with a snap he’s gone.

  
  


I sit still for fifteen minutes. Fifteen long minutes of gut wrenching anxiety, of fear. I stand up at sixteen and that’s when with a flash Crowley reappears, covered in blood and frowning. 

“Didn’t work.” He looks at me with hard eyes. “And now I’ve lost a demon.”

“Uh...try soul instead. Harbor in the signer’s soul?” Crowley looks at me and nods.

“Could work.” He takes out his phone and dials. “Bertrand, my best crossroads hustler. The scouts say your next potential deal is coming up when?”

  
  


Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes of pacing. Thirty minutes of picking at old wounds to mitigate nervousness. Two minutes of attempting to wash fresh blood out of a white shirt. Thirty minutes of anxiety. Thirty one minutes…

And he’s standing next to me, smiling. Covered in new blood. Wiping off a silver blade.

“I just had to kill the same demon four times tonight, the second time was actually quite difficult. And the third, well the third was very interesting.”

“Third? Four times? What?”

“Ah Ah! Nosy little artist aren’t you? After the contract.” He snaps and his suit is once again immaculate. He sits and a glass of some type of expensive liquor appears in his hand. “Now where were we?”

“Uh… The Fifth…”

“Yes. If one Crowley should ever expire he shall take harbor in the contract signer’s soul.”

“Until such a time as….”

“He feels like leaving.” He smiles and slides the knife up his sleeve while sipping his drink.

“Uhm.”

“Well, you wanted this to be a monogamous relationship, it doesn’t get much closer than this.” He looks me over. “We’ll have to get you in shape, or get you a better meat suit after you pass. Perhaps, keep you young forever?”

“No thanks. Kinda noticeable. Also, besides the knots in my muscles and the stress, I like my body.” He sips and remains quiet. “Uh… until such a time as it is safe to come out?”

“I decide when it’s safe.”

“We both do.”

“Acceptable. Now. I believe you said after this came the fun part, although I believe I’ve had quite a fun evening up until now.”

“Minutia. I...I’d like my muscle knots removed.” Crowley smirks.

“And I’d like blood. So weekly-”

“Monthly. Try continuous small doses.”

“I’ll try what I like. Weekly-”

“Why would you even put such an addiction in the story? If it’s so debilitating?” Crowley smiles.

“Because it was greatly over exaggerated, modified, and made the character more likeable.The more likeable I am, well the more idiots will make deals with the ‘fair seeming demon.’” He takes a sip, something he seemed to do when he’s thinking about how to torment or confuse. “You were right in that there were other methods of using the blood to get high. Drying and snorting it, steeping something in it and smoking it. But right up there with needles is my other personal favorite.” He looks at me with knowing eyes. I flinch.

“You like to drink it...don’t you.” He ignores me.

“Weekly. Daily. Whatever I choose. I’m the King of Hell.”

“Uhm, let me google something.” He raises a brow. 

“How stupid do I look? Letting you near a computer? Ask me.”

“How long does it take for the human body to replenish blood?” He nods and responds, without even looking up the answer.

“The amount of blood donated during a blood drive takes 48 hours to be replenished; so every two days-”

“Three. I will most definitely get sick if I give blood every two days. I’d prefer you supplement me with someone else and take fewer uh doses from me.”

“Not the deal.” He sniffs the air and smiles. “You’re quite nervous...bleeding out your little anxieties all over your shirt? Now. Anything else?” I stiffen. I mean. He knew I had something else, otherwise he wouldn’t ask.

“I mean, since you and your meat suit are here, I’d love for you to come back to the show for the last season.” He looks at me derisively, then hurt.

“You have the real deal, literally. How could anything in the show compare?”

“In the show, I don’t get personally fucked over by you.” He thinks then inclines his head sideways, admitting that was a bonus, for me. 

“No.”

“Why.”

“Because I'm enjoying watching you struggle with the fact that you don’t know whether I’m in the last season. Also fans clamoring for more of me? Always fun.” He flicks his wrist and a long contract appears. “I believe you’ll be more careful in reading it this time?”

*************

Three hours later, many red marks, much frowning on my part, minute smiles on Crowley’s, and the contract was done.

“One more read over.”

“Really, after all the work we’ve done, the discoveries we’ve made, you don’t trust me?” I snort as I read it over, and get an idea.

“Could...could we make sure my parents’, my boyfriend’s… souls...”

“They are well on their way to never dealing with my kind, so were you. Isn’t this much better, look at all the fun we’re having.” I snort again but continue reading. It takes another good five minutes and my mind is starting to go numb when my phone dings. Boyfriend, dinner, where are you? There is a snap and my phone is in the demon's hands. 

“How sweet. Shall I type the standard reply?” He does, without waiting for an answer, and somehow mimicking my style of texting. “Be home soonish. Probs. Finishing up work.” I nod and he types...then I have another thought. It would be hard coming back from this to normal life.

“While...I’m not in contact with you… could you remove my memories of you? It’s kinda hard to go back to normal after…”

“And put it back everytime we meet? Your brain would be mush. Sorry, I’m afraid you’ll just have to endure the wonderful memories of me.” He toasts and finishes his glass. 

“What about protection? Could we add a protection clause about me and mine while I’m alive? From the other monsters and demons.” He pauses and smiles a bit.

“Don’t need to. If you’re going to be my home away from home if I ever kick the bucket, so to speak, you’re going to have an honor guard.” I nod and continue reading and pause.

“Die at 70? Why the age cap? That was not agreed upon!”

“I’m not entering your soul just to have your body crap out from a heart attack while I’m enjoying your company.”

“Wait...would you get a one way ticket to heaven?”

“No.” I sigh. I had been shut down and now I wasn’t going to be allowed to delve deeper into that. I continue the best I can to prolong my inevitable demise.

“How about health to be reevaluated every 10 years?” He pauses.

“Agreed, then we can move the age cap to 90.”

“What!? Wait-” 

“No, that health evaluation is a wonderful idea, it means if you’re getting sick at 40 I can just off you then and create a new meatsuit for you. Brilliant idear.” I blink.

“Shit.”

“Oh quit your whining, you can come back up here until you’re 90 if you wish.”

“Add it. Make it official. Promises mean nothing, add the protection thing too.” He rolls his eyes.

“Such paranoia in one so young.”

“I write, I know what I’d do in your place, not taking chances.”

“Well, at least it proves you’ll be worth my time.” He waves his hand and more words appear. “Now are we signing or not?”

“Just let me-”

“No. Are we signing...or not?” I freeze, but nod. This had turned out better than I could have ever hoped. I wasn’t dead, I wasn’t going to be tortured, much, and my muscles might actually not cause my body to seize up in pain as often. I shouldn’t push it. Whatever words he just added...I’d have to take the risk.

I had made myself interesting, maybe worthwhile, and was apparently now a safe haven for the fucking King of Hell. I sigh, but take a pen and start to sign.

“Ah-ah.” I look at him. “Ah-Ah. Use this.” A snap and a fountain pen appears in my hand. I shrug and write, and wince as the ink comes out red. “This sort of contract should be written in blood, and sealed with a kiss.” I look at my signature and sigh, but finish writing. Crowley on the other hand flicks his wrist and his signature just manifests next to mine. I stand up from the floor where I had been for the past half hour reading and re-reading things on the long parchment, and find him next to me. 

“And now thee I do wed.” And suddenly his tongue is in my mouth. I flinch, surprised, but relent, and feel a slight burst of energy. I expect to feel a great loss, but instead just feel a small piece of me go, flee, seemingly far away. He parts and grins. “Consummated, our illegitimate marriage begins.” He pauses, holding my shoulders a moment before backing away. “ Your soul, salted and peppered with indecision and questioned morals; actually palatable, at least the little bit I have.”

“Little bit?” I blink, trying to remember the contract, but dazed from literally losing a piece of myself. 

“Well I can’t very well take refuge in it if I have it now can I? Whatever killed me would see it immediately. Now this little bit will just fly back to you, should I ever expire, and take me with it. Now, I don’t know about you, but I am quite ready for a celebratory drink.” I nod and relax, until the knife from earlier slips into his hand. I had completely misread that. I am no longer groggy, I am wide fucking awake. 

“Ok, if we are doing That right now, I need a drink.”

“Nervous love?” He says, picking a nail with the blade. I can only laugh.

“About bleeding? Cutting a small slit in my skin so you can get a fix? Hell no! About you making it? Yeah! You’re gonna have to heal this.” I say as I reach for my swiss army knife on my key ring that I attached to my belt. “Like Hell I’m letting you cut me, I’m choosing where, I’m doing it. You get the blood, you didn’t specify how.”

“Yes, but, you see.” He takes a step forward and suddenly is beside me. “I’m the bloody King of Hell, and you forgot to put in a clause about torture, or punishment, before you die naturally.” He raises a brow. “So. I have... a new... personal... Chew Toy.” I tense. I missed something, I knew I would. This would Not be fun, but at least it would be finite. It would end when I died, unlike the line, or the rack if my soul never twisted into a black mess. 

“Fucking Hell.” I’m slammed into a chair that slides up behind me and the demon circles me. 

“Indeed. You will be, I am, after all, its king. And while this FARCE of a chess game has been fun, Daddy wants his fix. Now, be a good little Chew Toy and don’t squeak too loudly.” As he talks the silver dagger slides under my chin and I tense as it stings. I don’t like this, not being able to see what he was doing. I have to act fast. 

“Wasteful.” The sting stops as he pauses his fun.

“Pardon?”

“It’s wasteful. Use my wrist, my leg, use a cup, your hands, hell pour it into your mouth, I don’t care. But don’t waste it by letting it stain my shirt red in an attempt to put me in my place or have fun. It’s wasteful.” There is silence for a moment.

“Huh.” The laugh is slight, familiar, and sends shivers down my spine. It meant he either agreed, or was about to put me through a world of pain. I sit as still as possible with bated breath. “Well, when you're right, you’re right, even if you're just trying to save your own skin.” I breathe a sigh of relief as the blade is removed, and flinch as it whips back and leaves a cut on my cheek.

“Unnecessary.”

“Oh, but so fun. You see. You and I? Lovers. Long time. Soul buddies!” He circles around my side and grabs my wrist so hard there is a slight crack, something crunching, he pauses. “That wasn’t...a bone was it? Humans, so fragile.” I chuckle.

“No. That, is a muscle knot.”

“A what?”

“Knot, bunched up muscle, tightened, then kinda hardened.”

“Yes, I know. Worked as a tailor. Long hours, horrible health care plan. But those knots, don’t have the delightful crunching feeling breaking bones do.”

“If they are bad enough they can make crunchy feelings or sounds. Why do you think I put that in the contract? If you hadn’t shown up, my stress levels would probably have killed me in five years.” He holds my wrist gently, with one finger beneath it, regarding it as if it could tell him something. 

“Huh.” He pushes up and lets my wrist bounce, then turns it over. “Learn something every day.” And with that my wrist is slashed open.


	4. The Bloody Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a cup is filled, and a soul searched.

The cut is deep, very deep, and blood pours in rivulets down it and drips into a cup. The dripping is methodical, like a second hand on a clock, and I concentrate on it to block out some of the pain from my new ‘friend’ squeezing my wrist like a man trying to wring out a towel. From all the way across the room. As he watches me struggle not to make a sound. 

The cut itself doesn’t hurt, but when it is twisted the nerves scream, unlike me. I can’t. I’d be punished more, surely. So I keep my eyes closed, and concentrate on the drips. Then the voice comes out of nowhere.

“I lied.” His words hurt, or more accurately, when he speaks I lose concentration of the drips and my arm feels like it’s on fire. I concentrate on his voice instead, or answering his question. 

“Of course you did. About which thing?” I breathe, concentrate on his voice, and the drips. He twists my arm and I wince.

“Your blood smells completely fine, I’m sure I’ll get a nice trip. Perhaps Hawaii.” I roll my eyes underneath my closed lids and try not to sigh too loudly at the terrible joke. I focus on the drips. They are starting to not be enough. I am going to have to wade into the dangerous waters of conversation if I wanted to refrain from pathetic whimpers, crying, or screams.

“So. I conducted this very poorly. Why am I not dead?”

“You did fairly well, you had one and a half brilliant ideas.”

“Which you could have taken, since I told you them, stupidly, before I signed anything.”

“Yes but you’re such a lovely goose, I’d hate to lose you.” I pause confused and with the reference on the tip of my tongue, but being in just a huge bit of pain and most certainly off my game from shock, I can’t quite get it.

“Goose?”

“Goose, golden egg. Kill the goose, no more eggs. You laid quite a shiny one tonight, two full ones if I’m being honest. I’d like to see if you can give me more during a painful labor... like right now.” 

“Probably.” Hopefully, or I’d be thrown to the side. I’m sure I’d be tossed to the wayside if I stopped coming up with ideas. 

“Confidant are we? So sure you’re better than the rest of those artists down in the pits?”

“Heh, no. I was just lucky, or unlucky, depending on how you look at it. All I know is I’m creative and good at coming up with ideas fast. That’s it.” We sit in silence, except for the drips. I’m tense. I’m overwhelmed and on the verge of a panic attack again. How the fuck do I go back to normal after this?

“Relax.”

“Been trying to since kindergarten. Failed. So...uhm. NNnnnhow true were the stories? Moose and Squirrel dead?”

“Again. Why should I tell you when watching you beg for answers is so endearing?”

“Glad I could provide you with such entertainment.”

“So full of snark.”

“So why not humor me?” He looks at me, from across the room, the character from the story, from other stories. An actor, a demon. Too many things for me to know exactly who he is.

“I’ll give you one.” I perk up, it was better than zero. “Hmm, two actually.” Now I am nervous. He was deciding to give me more information, that meant there was no way it would ease my mind.

“There are two reasons I am such a stand up guy.” I blink. He wasn’t a stand up guy, he was the opposite. “One, that show was on TV. PG-13. I could say I did horrible things, could hint, but never elaborate, never show them. Two. Even if I could have shown them, I wouldn’t. I need people to like me; think I’m fair, relatable, have a soft side. Maybe I do. Maybe I am.”

“You don’t break your deals though...that much is true about you I think.” I venture, hopeful more than anything else.

“Yes, but...everything else.” He chuckles. “That Crowley, was a candy coated teddy bear. I am so so much worse.”

“I couldn’t tell.” He chuckles again.

“Which brings me to my second point. It’s about 50%.”

“What is?”

“The ratio of crap to fact. You figure out which is which.” Oh, he was good. That thought would keep me busy for a long long time. I sigh.

“Look, King of Hell, make a deeper cut so this goes faster, or suck it out of me. Really not enjoying this.”

“Yes, well. I am.”

“Counterpoint. Worried boyfriend.”

“He doesn’t care love, you texted him. You're working late and he shouldn’t worry about you for dinner.” I look at him through eyes heavy from shock and frown. Tricked again. “Demon. Remember?”

“Yeah. Still getting used to that. Usually I write the villain.” I look down at the cup, it isn’t even half full. I wince over a scream as, from across the room, the king twists his hand and my arm twists with it; producing a gush of blood that interrupts the methodical drips. 

“Yes, you’ve said; and you think you write good ones?”

“Palatable ones, that hopefully get people addicted to their character traits, before they realize how cruel they are. Again, no villains, just people twisted by experiences.”

“How do you determine what is good and bad then, who is evil?”

“In life? By the feeling you get in your stomach when you help or hurt someone. In the book? You don’t. Everyone is just doing what they think is right for them. You are. You’re a demon, literally your job description.”

“Huh. Maybe I’ll read it when it’s published.” He holds up his hand and the glass from beneath my arm appears in it. I sigh in relief until I feel pressure and a sting. I look down, the cut is gone, but I have an IV that is decidedly not putting anything in. I look back up at my captor, who smiles and toasts me. “I’m taking a doggy bag.”

“But…”

“Hello Chew Toy, King of Hell, nice to meet you.” I sigh and throw my head back against the chair. This was going to be a long night. 

……………..

“Notice you haven’t tried to stand despite the lack of restraints.”

“Chair isn’t mine. Don’t wanna break it if you force me back down into it.”

“You never really stop thinking do you?”

“Like I said. It’s a problem.”

“Why?”

“I...you know what, no.”

“No?”

“No. I’m not gonna tell you. Give you more ammunition.” He chuckles and takes a sip from the red stained glass. 

“Well, at least you’re learning.” I jump to other questions, distractions from fear and pain. 

“So...why a tv show? I’m in contract. I can’t tell anyone anything any more or you get to-“

“Permanent, Chew Toy…” he smiles slightly, watching me, the glass in his hand. He swirls it’s contents around and I watch transfixed as red coats its inside with that half opaque half translucent look only blood has. “Crossroads deals were declining. The truly desperate will try anything, even if they see it on a show.”

“So...why stop?”

“Deals went up again, business was good. For a year I even went back to my old job. It was nice to work with the little people again, so it meant I was busy.” He waves his hand and I cough and swallow a scream as my arm is crushed. Blood flows out into the bag and I am deeply regretting sweetening the pot. But at least I’m not fucking dead. In pain, but not dead.

But I couldn’t give him an excuse to make me Want to be dead. I couldn’t be loud.

“But…. you said...show...didn’t want…” The pain is getting worse the longer the wound is open to the air.

“Complete sentences darling. Use your words.”

“You said you... didn’t want the….job….True?”

“I’m working here aren’t I? Besides, I realized that if I hated the demons working for me...I could, well, fire them. Make new ones. Ones that liked ME enough to not rebel; were smarter, actually a pleasure to work with. And the paperwork, well. Delegate. The moaning, I moved my office. I’m the king, Hell is what I want it to be.”

“So...persona, outside...all the niceties and promoting…” I flinch as there is another squeeze. “Kindness.” He chuckles. 

“Priming up new demons that would be loyal...to me. Not to Hell, not to themselves, ME. I mean. They love me! I’m the King of the Crossroads. All I have to do is say ‘Hello boys,’ and they cheer. Besides, it’s amusing to be a...more mellow version of myself. Final point of business... You need people actually alive to collect souls. If you all kill each other...well.” He swirls the drink and takes a sip, rolling it around on his tongue. I wonder if I taste good, or just like iron. 

“You wouldn’t believe what some will sell their souls for. They really don’t understand what they are doing...what they will endure…” He looks at me and nods. “But you do. You fear it.”

“No. No. I have other fears, but I saw an opportunity.” He pauses swirling his drink and turns his head from the absent gaze at the wall towards me. He raises his eyebrows and smiles. I flinch, that was apparently the answer he wanted...that he somehow knew was coming. He slowly brings the glass to the right of the chair, just out of reach of his suit, and regards it for a moment before looking directly at me and... tips it. The glass filled with what was once keeping me alive. Slowly, slowly, it tips until red spills onto the ground and splashes, wasted, into a pool. I watch it; confused, horrified, angry. When the last drop hits he shakes the glass and sighs, taking out a handkerchief and wiping the outside clean, then his mouth, before setting it down in the air, into nothing. 

“What…?” I can’t, I just didn’t understand. 

“Drinking blood, a pastime, a cliche one. Delicious...once it’s actually been turned into a drink in Hell. Straight? Take it or leave it.”

“Then why…”

“Because I…” He stands and walks over, hands in pockets, bored, faking disinterest...I hoped. “Have been in your head.” He leans over and whispers. “I know your wants.” I tense as he grabs my arm. “Your fears.” I yelp as he rips the IV out. “Insecurities, everything. You’re pathetic, but smart...for a human. You’d be brilliant if it weren’t for all your other failings. I mean…” He examines the bag and takes the needle out of the tube. “I’ll enjoy this later, but drink it…” He holds the tube to my face. “Only on special occasions, and then…” He stands up and pulls out the tube, closing the bag. “We’ll share darling.” I shiver, no idea what’s coming, why he’d waste blood on tormenting me, what’s going on. Perhaps I am finally having that panic attack. 

He stands above me once again and looks at me. “See you for our honeymoon love. I’d definitely count that as a special occasion.”

He’s gone. The blood on the floor, the cut on my arm, and face, gone. His chair, back in place. I stand, and nearly fall. He is gone.

For how long?


	5. The Honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the artist is searched, inside and out.

For three months. He was gone for three months. Three months of doubting it happened. Three months of my muscles getting a lot better, a lot faster, than before. Three months of nightmares. Three months of dying to talk to my therapist about it, but ...if it was real that would be a very bad idea. Three months of eating a lot of salty foods, vitamins, of drinking a lot of booze, of gaining three pounds. Three months before I walk out my bedroom door, and into decidedly not the hallway to the living room. 

“Hello darling. Miss me?” I freeze. I tense. The room I’m in is secondary. The fact that it’s 30 degrees warmer. Tertiary. The fact that it’s bright midday when I had walked out of my room in the early morning sun. Didn’t matter in the least. 

My focus is on one thing. My fear and its source sitting across from me behind a mahogany desk. 

“Honeymoon time.” I swallow and take in the room now. It’s expensive, expansive, and contains a lot of wood. The pillars behind the desk are wood. The floor is wood. Tables, chairs, liquor cabinet, wood. Only things that aren’t wood are the fireplace and the curtains. 

“I doubt the efficacy of a demon living in something so easily ignited.” He snorts at my comment and moves a chair in front of the desk indicating I should sit down. I hesitate, and he rolls his eyes. I’m pulled forward and pushed into the chair which turns toward him. I blink and sigh. He looks exactly the same; his suit impeccable, his demeanor relaxed, terrifying. But real. So that was nice to know. It happened. Not insane. Not another thing to add to the long list of mental problems I had. I sigh again in relief. 

“Ah, you did miss me.”

“No, I did start to believe I imagined you. Had you waited a couple more weeks, I might have broken our deal and you’d own me. But now…” Crowley chuckles.

“I already own you. Chew Toy, be realistic. So...drink?”

“I’d love one.”

“No. No no no no. No. ….No. You’re going to make me one. Something new.” I pause and think quickly trying to find options.

“Have you heard of a shrub? Were you here in America during the colonial times?”

“No, but I have heard of a shrub. They are all over those fancy new bars in California. It’s disgusting, they should have actual liquor.”

“Uhm…. can you really not eat salt?”

“Sorry darling, no margaritas today.”

“You’re cutting out a lot of options.” He raises his current glass of whiskey, or scotch, or something amber, and toasts me. 

“Tough.” I sigh and walk over to the liquor cabinet and go to open it. “Ah. No. That’s where the expensive stuff is. I’ll get whatever ingredients you need.” I pause, and smile. He could torture me, but I had an idea that might torture him, just a bit.

“Well I need something you might not like...being seen buying...or even being bought for you.” He snorts. 

“I doubt there is anything-”

“Bud light lime.” He freezes and I grin. “And Punk Lemonade Cider by B. Nekter. Both cold.” He looks at me, disbelieving, and blinks.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.” He sighs and swirls the drink, rolling his eyes.

“What else?”

“That’s it.” He stares at me again.

“Last time you made me a drink with fresh grapefruit and gin and reputable ingredients...and now This? Disgusting!” I shrug.

“Trust me, or don’t. Or bring me corona, fresh elderflower, a teabag, and lime….and it might not turn out as good. Or send me to get it. I have no qualms or worries about my reputation being ruined by my taste in beer.” He grits his teeth.

“...I could introduce you to pain you couldn’t-”

“You won’t.” He pauses, curious and disbelieving. 

“Really? Why not?”

“Because it could damage your secondary vessel. If I’m...comatose from brain damage, or perhaps even mental trauma, it’d be easy to figure out what I am to you...if you ever die. Guards, around a comatose meat bag? Why would the King need that? Me walking around? When you have twenty, minimum, other people also being watched, means nothing. You guarding an invalid who can offer you nothing? Suspicious. Not worth risking, at least until you have your new army, but then you risk being in a damaged body in a type of possession that you...haven’t tried before. And Then, even THEN if I’m insane, you’d have to waste resources guarding me from myself. You can’t kill me, as per contract, besides it’d be a waste. Finally, and most importantly, if I go insane I’m rather not capable of fulfilling other parts of my contract, or being interesting. Nah, you won’t do anything that might jeopardize my ability to blend in, or do my job, that much.” He stares at me, his head tilted, and frowns. Nodding, showing me he was mildly impressed, or perhaps putting me at ease while determining the best way to punish me for my complete insolence. “So...bud light lime and punk lemonade, you getting it or am I?” He smiles. And nods. And snaps his fingers. The bottles appear on his desk and I shake my head. “Right… that thing.” I head back over to the desk and sit, pulling the bottles toward me.

“You’ll pay for taunting me. And on our honeymoon. It’s almost like you don’t want to be here.” I look down at my jeans and sweatshirt.

“Well I’m certainly not dressed for it. Completely underdressed for such fine company as yours on such a special occasion.” I open the drinks and pour them together into a tall glass, half and half.

“And I say you’re overdressed.” There’s a slight sound and then I’m cold, and the fabric on the seat is not comfortable. I sigh and manage to not drop the bottles.

“You’ve been inside me, apparently, so you know nudity doesn’t bother me. Art School and all. If you want to look at me, fine, but I’d like my underwear at least please. I don’t know who has sat, died, or fucked, on this chair.”

“Not my house, don’t know.” He looks at me a moment before standing up to circle me. “I knew it was bad but, have the last 3 months really been so stressful Chew Toy?” I blink. Maybe this was an opportunity.

“Yeah it has! I still don’t know what to believe about that show or not! It’s stressful!”

“And?”

“Throw me another bone? Please?” He stares. And chuckles.

“Alright. Monsters aren’t real.” I freeze.

“What?”

“That really isn’t a complicated concept.”

“But...oh c’mon. You talk about foreplay and then shove that fact into my head like an over eager college kid sticking his dick into a roofied teen?! C’mon!” He chuckles.

“That was the first crack of a whip darling. Patience, I’ll build you up slowly.” He paces behind me, not allowing me to see where he is. Something he somehow knows makes me nervous as Hell. My body is so tense my arms are shaking from stress as I hear him pace. “There are two things, besides the big players who left eons ago. Angels and humans. Humans however can be, and make, lots of things: good, bad, witches, warlocks… and demons.”

“But….then where do all the other stories come from? Like unicorns, and dragons?”

He scoffs.

“Unicorns were birthed from an extinct rhino and someone who needed glasses. All the other things out there? Well, demons and angels wear many masks in order to get what they want.” I stare.

“No way angels can pull off that level of acting if they are anything like the show.”

“There is...was, a faction of angels specifically made to interact with humans in disguise.”

“And you? Did you ever play any of those...roles off screen? And seriously, underwear or I’ll piss on this seat.”

“And I...don’t care and won’t tell.” He takes the drink, suddenly next to me again, and sips, shrugs, and takes another sip. “I know someone who’d like this. I’m not partial, too sweet, and it’s not unique.” 

“Sorry to disappoint, underwear?”

“I don't Like being Disappointed. Have you forgotten who you’re dealing with?!” I flinch as he pokes at one of my scabs. “Heroin?” He questions, repeating an incident in college. I had been driving and missed a stop sign that was hidden by trees. I was stopped, and the cop asked if I was a druggie because of all my scars from picking nervously at my skin until I bled.

Crowley knew I wasn't an addict, he was just showing off his knowledge of my past.

“I really don’t need any other drugs in my system, you know damn well these are from stress. Why are we playing at...whatever the fuck this is?” He sighs and pushes into my wound once more before stepping back, shaking his head sadly.

“No fun, no sense of climax; what a sad little dance we are doing. You requested more decorum, not less, and now you act blunt? You’re such a tease.”

“I can’t dance if I don’t know What the music is! Why am I here?” He sighs and snaps his fingers, my clothes restored. He stands behind the chair, hand playing with my hair. 

“I’m here to enjoy my Chew Toy on our honeymoon. Drink, talk, maybe take a hit or two... test something.” I tense again. Probably not good. Ok, definitely not good. Nothing I can do, disobeying would cause much more trouble than I could probably handle. “Don’t worry, it shouldn’t hurt. Ok it won’t.” He pauses and looks at me, a slight false question on his face. “Unless you’d like that?”

“Not, really? Not to the amount you’d inflict.”

“Degrees of pain. I prefer medium...to excruciating.” He circles the desk, sitting across from me and setting the drink down, pushing it aside, sitting up straight. “Shame, I’d figure you’d be a bit more adventurous. Foreplay, so important to relationships, in building tension.” I hated it, I knew what I had to say, he set it up so obviously I was actually worried what would happen if I didn’t play along.

“Building tension...for what?” He smiles, that tight lipped smile, happy I was willing to dance right into whatever trap was waiting. It wasn’t like I had a choice.

“Climax, of course. It’s our honeymoon. Like I said… this was all just foreplay, a whip lightly licking your skin...preparing you.” He leans back a bit and smiles demurely at me. “I want to be inside you darling.” I freeze, not knowing what would be worse; if it was an innuendo or not. “Don’t fret, we’ll share that drink after, as promised.” And the last thing I see is red smoke.

..........................................................................  
  


I awake in my bed, half a day wasted by the type of light in my room...and the clock on the wall. I sit up, feeling a bit wobbly. I look down at my right arm, left arm. No marks. I had no clue if I was tired from, what I assumed was possession, or blood loss. I sigh and go to grab my phone, which is on my bedside table. That is weird because I usually leave it on my bed, and as I reach over I see a small vial. I pick it up. Small label with perfect cursive.

“That drink, as promised. Don’t worry, it’s All yours. C.”

I turn the vial, examining the liquid in it. Blood, definitely mine ...probably. I smile. He really should have paid more attention to my books while he was in my head. It probably wouldn’t do anything but piss him off...and show him I actually was capable of playing this game. As close to his level as I could be.

Write enough nefarious characters, you start to think like one.

2 The Cheap Date  
Punk Lemonade by B. Nektar. Bud Light lime. Equal parts.


	6. The Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is torture, and a pissed off King of Hell.

It happens two days later. Just two. I walk out of my bathroom, and not into my hall. 

It’s dark, an ambience of trepidation dark. Able to see enough to make you worried, and keep enough hidden to make you scared, dark. What I could see... Metal chair, metal cuffs, metal something digging into my neck. 

“Darling, honeybunch... Chew Toy.” The metal digs into my neck deeper and begins to pierce skin as his furious voice echoes. I bite my tongue, make my own pain to distract from whatever would happen, prevent screams. I had no idea what he wanted from me right now. I had an inkling as to why I was here, but not how he wanted me to act. 

“I...just came back from THE worst trip I have ever had!” The metal is pulled from my neck and slammed into a tray nearby. Crowley walks out from behind me and leans over, hands on the shackles attached to the chair. “Care to know where I went?” 

“I think I can hazard a guess.” I look up at him; eyes blazing, covered in sweat, face furious. I was in trouble, but hopefully it’d be worth it.

“What...did you do...to your blood.”

“Never did read my book did you? I mean, the memory should be in there-”

“Tell Me!” My body slams back into the chair and for a moment I can’t breathe, or think, or talk. I do as soon as I can however, not good to keep him waiting.

“Ate a Shit ton of salt, and silver supplements.” He snarls and caresses my face before roughly pulling it close.

“Darling, you have No Idea Who you’re Messing With!”

“NO, I know EXACTLY who I’m messing with! I‘M messing with someone that I NEED TO IMPRESS ON A REGULAR BASIS OR HE WILL GET BORED OF ME AND MAKE MY LIFE A LIVING HELL JUST FOR FUNSIES! I’ll happily take an hour of PUNISHMENT to prove that, yes, I can play this game!” He stares at me, grip consistent and painful. I can’t tell if he is studying me, or is genuinely surprised. I highly doubted the latter. “Happy Honeymoon, here’s your gift. Two flavors, normal and spicy. Which would you like for the next FORTY YEARS!” He glares, lets go of my face, and walks away. He stares at the wall I can barely see, his back to me. He’s tense, angry, but soon I see his shoulders relax. I breathe a sigh of relief. 

And that’s when his fist connects with my face.

I wake up, still in the chair, quite sore everywhere. I shake my head, groggily. 

“So sorry, but I started without you.” His voice is rough, and echoes not just in the room but in my head. I blink and look at my arms. Miniscule cuts, deep but short, everywhere. I shake my head again and try to look around. My head is ringing, but I can move it. My jaw definitely aches. I’d taken punches before, but not many, and not like this. Still, it was just pain, I knew what caused it, and I could move my jaw. I look at the demon I was bound to, for...probably forever. He is immaculate again, but his outfit has a new addition. Black rubber gloves and a butcher’s smock. 

“And now. The fun part.” He picks up an ordinary glass salt shaker and wiggles it in front of me. “Salt, for salt. Enjoy.” I can’t help it, I try not to smile, I really do, but obviously my face changes and it’s not the expression he wants. “What? You find this funny?” And he starts shaking the salt over my arms as if I were his next meal. It burns, far sharper than fire, but no worse than the hydrogen peroxide I use on cuts, frequently. Although this doesn’t fade, and it’s everywhere...which kind of helps. I grow used to it, I’m wincing and blinking through painful tears that only make the cuts on my face sting more, but I’m still thinking clearly. 

“Quote I like. Tell you later. Just….need more time to adjust.” I bite out the words, and focus on the pain. It had reached peak, it wasn’t getting worse, I could deal with it now. At least I tell myself that. 

I hear footsteps, my eyes are closed tight to help with the pain but I can hear him circling me.

“No, please. Share with the class.”

“What class? I think...you’re more of a teacher.” My whole body screams in pain as he snaps his fingers. Nope, never felt this before. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t tell time. 

Until it stops.

“You’re right, I’m here to teach you quite a bit. Like why you Shouldn’t Cross Me! How Dare You! You can’t come CLOSE to my level! I’ve been doing this for longer than you can imagine! You can’t even hope to get on my level! Most Demons Balk at trying to go up against me one on one and You, a Mortal, have the audacity, the Stupidity, to try?!” 

The wind is knocked out of me as the chair and I slam into the wall. My head cracks against it and that last thing I hear is-

“Bollocks!” 

I’m out for only a couple of seconds because when I’m aware again the chair is still on the ground and I hear the tail echo of a snapping sound. I cough again, spit out what is definitely blood, and shake my head. 

“Yeah, no. I can’t hope to match you. Didn’t think I could. But I can try. Wouldn’t be much fun for you if I didn’t.” I turn my head, craning it so I can see my torturer standing across the room. “Well, do I impress?” I hear a shuffle of expensive shoes on stone and I flinch as they get louder. “Like I said… You get bored? I get the pointy end of a very dangerous stick. I bet you can think of a hundred ways to make my life Hell. I wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing. However, you’ve been in here, you know I have anxiety. Well that problem, that Thing that already makes shit hard cause I can imagine all the ways my life could go? Well, it also let’s me imagine a fucking hundred and One ways you could torture me with that stick.” I’m suddenly upright and he’s staring into my face.

“Confidant, cocky.” He kneels down and looks me in the eye. “Hate it.” A scalpel, something pointy, is slammed into my right hand, and I scream. The pain ends quickly, but starts again when he pulls it out. My whole arm aches, throbs from that one point of entry, still in pain from all the salt. All I can think is ‘thank god it’s not my drawing hand.’

“I don’t want a confident, cocky, petulant child who throws tantrums and betrays me! I want someone who listens to what I want them to do!”

“And I want a modicum of respect!”

“You don’t deserve my respect!” 

“That’s what I’m trying to do! Earn your respect! Show you I’m prepared! I took a precaution as soon as I met you just in case this was real, and it was one you didn’t anticipate! My life is gonna be Hell if I can’t earn your respect!” I shake my head, the pain starting to overwhelm me again. The adrenaline from the knife is wearing off, I’m less groggy after being knocked out and healed by him. It is just gonna get worse. Have to talk fast. I don’t know where the Hell I am going anymore, I can’t remember. I can remember the points I wanted to say...just not where they are supposed to lead. I can only hope it was somewhere good. “I can play the game. Not as well as you, not as powerful as you, But I can play it!” There’s a pause.

“Are you really sure you want to play? With ME?”

“Hell no! But if I don’t, I’m gonna be your ‘Chew Toy’ for the next…40 years! Jesus fucking christ get... salt out... or do... something worse! It’s fucking distracting!”

“Try leading an infernal court session with your veins on fire and fucking bipolar disorder rushing through you!” He stands up and takes off the gloves, throwing them on the table. “Stew a bit darling, I’ll be back for another play date.” As the door opens I remember something, random, but important. I can barely think through the pain that’s getting worse somehow, but my mind refuses to stop making connections and jumping around.

“Second... wanted to...thanks before you go.” The door stops squeaking and I take that as a possible good sign. “Noticed... waited til...done with...bathroom before... bringin...” I can’t get out any more words. I thought I could withstand it...I did for a bit...but now...My body burns, my arm aches, and...and...pain. Hurts. So much. Much….Pain...

And the door closes. 


	7. The First Time in Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which and understanding is reached.

I’m still in the chair when I awake. My body aches, the stinging is still there, but a lot less painful. I blink again, it’s the only thing that doesn’t hurt to move. I’m tired. I probably passed out. I have no idea how long I’ve been here. Or where here is. I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, and I have to pee again. I close my eyes, and...just wait. 

It’s a long wait...I think. Don’t really know. I just concentrate on not pissing my pants. Try to remember what my angle was in this whole escapade. I’m still groggy. 

The door opens eventually, and I don’t like the words I hear.

“Hello Chew Toy.” I stay silent. I don’t want a repeat of...however long ago that was. “Good. Ready to talk? Well, answer... Or scream. I’m not really picky.” I stay silent again. I still don’t know what he wants. “So, what do I do to you so this never happens again? We are in an unusual circumstance. Usually, if Anyone did this to me, I’d torture them, kill them, then torture them some more, then Rip Their Fucking Soul Apart On The Rack. But...” He stops in front of me and I hear the clanking of metal as he goes over whatever tools are on the table. “Our little contract prevents me from killing you! So, you see my dilemma.” He circles me, pausing occasionally to make me tense up, anticipating an attack, but nothing comes. “Well, I made a contract with you to advise me, so advise me. Tell me, What should I do to make sure this never happens again?” I blink, squint, and shake my head. I feel like I should speak, I need to say something, help him. But I can’t think straight.

“Well, my first piece of advice is heal me….so I can actually give you good advice.”

“Mmmm. No. I want Truth, and addled minds...well.” I wince.

“At least let me pee. That won’t be fun for anyone.” 

“I disagree, it’d be hilarious. Talk.” No choices left, and a deal was a deal. I can’t go back.

“Well firstly, you don’t have to do anything. I’m not doing it again.”

“Really. This little measly bit of pain has Guaranteed that you won’t pull a stunt like that again?”

“No. It is guaranteed I won’t pull That stunt again, but not because of the torture.” My head swims, I know ...I think I know where I’m going with this. “And you’re asking the wrong question. It’s not what will stop me, it’s why did I do it.” There’s silence it stretches as I sway a bit in the chair. 

“Well? If you make this like pulling teeth, I’ll take that simile literally.”

“To give you...information.” The pain in my wounds has become a slight sting, but it’s everywhere, it itches. It’s hard to concentrate with it and my hunger and other things tearing through my senses. “You...now know that I’m capable of thinking like you. Maybe not at your level, maybe not as fast, but I can do it. So….I’m figuring somewhere in the contract is a clause, or lack thereof, about suicide, and what happens in the case of that type of ‘unnatural’ death…” I pause, concentrating, unable to concentrate, trying to think and hold my bladder and ignore the painful itching stings. I decide to just go for it and let the words spill out of me. “You drive me to it. It might void the contract, perhaps I’ll just go down there early, but it’s an option. You make my life Hell, try to drive me to it...I’ll know it’s you, or assume it even if it isn’t. I don’t know, but it’s a thought that has occured. Secondly...You know my pain tollerance, have a better idea of how quickly I’ll go mad if you torture me. Perhaps try to get me to ramble about the online trap and void my contract. But...a contract needs both parties to agree on the definition of something...unless it’s pre-defined in your files, which I’m guessing the word ‘tell’ isn’t.” He’s been quiet, letting me ramble, digging my grave or saving myself, I had no clue, but he was letting me do it. Now however he pipes up.

“And why would you assume that, Chew Toy?”

“Three more points. One: you said this is a unique situation. Two: no one would argue for the definition of tell, in the specific situation of insanity, for the person hearing the info to believe and understand. Because I believe that in order to tell someone something, both people need to have intent and belief. If I’m insane, I have no intent, and the person hearing has no belief. No one has come back to argue this point because once they are insane...well you’re not coming back from that to argue. If they’ve told and died, then it’s a moot point and their soul is yours. Three...I...I can’t remember three. Still, betting you don’t have that written down and defined somewhere. So if we...right point three. If we disagree on the definition of something in the contract, an addendum must be made or that entire point is moot until we agree.” He’s been standing behind me, I can feel him regarding me, out of sight so I can’t see his reactions. Out of sight so I don’t know if an attack is coming. Out of sight to try to scare me and make the hairs on my neck stand up. Well it’s working. “So now you know that I am...no….look. I really have to pee and neither of us want to work, or be worked on, smelling that.”

“Still don’t care. So, the whole point of this was to…” I swallow and steel myself. 

“Make sure I’m more than a Chew Toy that you’ll throw away after a month. ” He leans down and whispers in my ear.

“A Chew Toy that costs $50 is still a Chew Toy. Brave or stupid, my Chew Toy, will still squeak.”

“I’m niether brave nor stupid, and it wouldn’t matter. I’m here giving you information because I’m counting on you being smart and putting all the info together. Showing that uh…you...shouldn’t mess up your goose’s fathers, or your chew toy’s luster so fast.” The walking stops, him out of sight, silent. No clue where he is standing. 

“So...the point of this was to teach me a lesson?”

“No! Give you information!”

“Darling, I’ve been inside you, twice now, there is Nothing I don’t know about you!”

“Of course there is! Why? Because there is stuff  _ I  _ don’t know about me. I have no idea what I’m capable of in a situation until I’m fucking placed in it! I  _ believed _ I could withstand a certain amount of pain, but I had no fucking proof until today! That’s what’s so problematic about humans, Crowley, even we never really know what we’re gonna do.”

There is silence. I’m sweating, my bladder no longer hurts, for now, but the rest of my body aches. The silence compounds it. And when it is broken, it’s right next to my ear. 

“So this was recon, on yourself, for both of us.”

“I...guess?” There’s a snap and relief floods through me. The salt. Gone. He runs his hands lightly up one arm and down the other, closing all the cuts. 

“Use me in your recon again? I’ll break off your legs and feed them to the Hellhounds.”

“I’m kinda hurt you wouldn’t eat them yourself.”

“Keep taunting darling. I’ll peel off your skin and turn it into crisps.”

I’m back home. In front of my bathroom. I hurry to the kitchen...clock says 9:35. An hour after I’d left. And that’s when I knew…

I’d been in Hell. 

And I have no idea if any of the conjectures I made were right, or if they had any effect….

...Bollocks. 


	8. The Traitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a demon is chased, and an idea stupidly given.

I’d have started to doubt his existence over the years, if it hadn’t been for getting my blood drawn monthly, without a bill, at the doctors office. He was probably checking salt content there, or the silver. I didn’t know which actually hurt him, how much of the lore I knew could actually be taken as fact. I was guessing most of it, but everything would be twisted and wrong. Just enough to make people confident they could win, and then have them fuck it up and go down a Hellhound’s throat. Like anything Cthulhu related. One sigil wrong? Dead. And not just dead. 

Soul eaten dead. 

That’s what I was dealing with. One mistake...unknown consequences, but definitely painful. 

So when five years later I’m midstroke with a pencil and I find myself somewhere I don’t recognize, I try to be more cautious. I really do. 

Still not great at going slow. 

“Hello Chew Toy.” He sits once again behind a desk. Metal this time. Empty warehouse chic. 

“Crowley. What can I do for you?”

“I have a problem. Demon turned traitor. Can’t find him anywhere. Thoughts?” I breathe. I was lucky. He actually wanted my ideas, not whatever amusement I could give him. 

“With warding, can you look for the place you can’t see? Like they did to find the black hole?”

“Not how the warding works. There isn’t an absence, a hole, we just don’t see him. Do you think I’d Be here if it were that simple?”

“No, but I had to rule it out in my own head. Uhm...the guy got vices?” He pauses, but is willing to roll with me. 

“Raping young women. Then eating them.” Yuck. Oh god. I swallow. Right, demons.

“I meant more like addictions.”

“Demon, remember? That is an addiction, Chew Toy.” I shudder. 

“Got any contracts ending soon?”

“Of course.”

“With young women?”

“Probably.” I had an idea. I hated it, but it worked and it was an idea, therefore I had to share it. 

“Offer to extend them if they look for him. ...No, find him and succeed in reporting to you. Arm them with...I dunno whatever works, but do what I did. They eat a shit ton of salt. Drink holy water. Silver supplements. I don’t know what actually works but you get the idea. Arming them is to make them feel like you actually believe they could succeed, dosing them with drugs is what guarantees it. Have them check in every, I don’t know, four hours or so? The one that doesn’t? Well, they got eaten. Locate their gps, he should be twitching like a cunt on the ground nearby. I doubt anyone can actually withstand what I ingested as elegantly as you did.” He frowns a bit and I move on quickly. “The Best case...for you I mean... You didn’t break a contract, they just failed. Their soul is in Hell. Worst case? They succeed and they get another 10 years.” He stares at me. Silently. 

“Little whore selling out her fellow humans. Don’t you care what they will go through? Some of the idiots with good intentions who signed?” 

“They signed. I can’t make anything better for them. Also, unfortunately, humans have a hard time really relating to or understanding something or someone far away. Hell, most of us can’t relate to the bums on the street! I’m woefully empathetic, but still unable to grasp or empathize with things so distant or large… Maybe it will suck, but I can’t do a goddamn thing… Guilt...it’ll fade eventually, or haunt me forever. Won’t know until it happens. ...But it’s not like I have a choice either. I made a deal with you.” I look at him and ponder something for a moment. “...pick carefully the demons you choose to protect me. If they are one of the ones I’ve fucked over…well I’d definitely die before my time.” He smiles.

“See. I knew you’d come through. Now. Drink?” I sigh. I had a feeling I knew what he meant this time.

“I need vodka, a whole lemon, and a candy cane. Oh and a sharp knife. Oh, a syringe wouldn’t hurt either. Hope you like sour.” There's a snap and the ingredients are in front of me along with a glass. I swallow and take the knife and lemon and make an x slit in the side and jam the peppermint stick in. He sits and watches me with amusement. I try very hard to not shake, sweat, whatever. I’m succeeding so far. I take the vodka and take try to take a big fucking drink. “Ah Ah.” Crowley shakes his head and I sigh before filling the syringe and injecting the lemon, twice after checking the proof of the vodka. I pour some vodka into the glass, toast him, and slide the lemon across the desk. 

“Enjoy. Well wait a minute for the vodka to disseminate, then enjoy.” He looks at the ‘thing’ I passed him then back at me. 

“It’s unique, but not a drink.” I sigh, take the lemon back, pull out the peppermint stick, lick it, and shove it back in. 

“Drink it like that, or shove more peppermint sticks in, and juice it in half an hour. It may not be as tasty.” He shakes his head. 

“I’ll wait. Do it.” I break the peppermint stick off, and then into quarters. I make more incisions and proceed to jam the broken bits into the holes. 

“So, when did you first possess me?” I ask. He blinks, then takes my glass of vodka from me and sips it. I had tried to do some more research on him...his persona outside any roles he played. I found that he is tauntingly cruel and witty, while still encouraging good will and love from his fans. I also found a single comment on preferred drinks. “So much for sobriety.” He nods, acknowledging my attempt at research then pushes it aside, unimpressed.

“Vessel’s persona, not me darling. When I’m him, I’m sober. Now, when do you think I did? Possess you that is.”

“First night we met...just don’t know when.”

“True. And why should I tell you?” I roll my eyes and grab the bottle to drink from since my cup got stolen. 

“No reason to, no reason not to.”

“Then I won’t.”

“Fair. I mean, if I were you I would’ve come in before you returned from the second crossroads deal, through a vent, then come back in your vessel as if you were just returning triumphant from the fight.”

“Good theory. You would have made a good demon.”

“No thanks. Don’t wanna go to the empty. Alone with my own mind and dreams? For eternity? No thanks.”

“Scared of your own thoughts? What do you think about at night?”

“Horrible things. Like where all my money went.” I glare at him from across the table. “Therapy. It went to therapy Crowley.” 

“Not my problem.” He says unaffected by my glare. I give up and go to take a sip and I’m back at my desk...bottle gone. 

“Oh fuck you Crowley! Let me have a goddamn drink!” 

I get a text a week later. Number I don’t know. Although the 666 is pretty telling. 

“Got him. Kudos to my Chew Toy. 😈”

I sigh, and text back. 

“Good to hear. Now feed the bastard old corpses of the people he killed till he pops.”

I don’t hear from him again for 3 years. And when I do, I really wish I hadn’t.

  
  
  
  


I should never have sent that text. 

3 The Christmas Lemon

1 lemon. 1 candy cane. 1 half jigger of vodka.

Slice a small x into lemon with a knife. Make sure the cut goes through to the flesh of the 

lemon. Pour vodka in. Jam candy cane in. Let sit for a minimum of one minute. Pull out 

the candy cane, suck on it, repeat.

Virgin: Candy cane. Lemon. 

Slice a small x into lemon with a knife. Make sure the cut goes through to the flesh of the 

lemon. Pour vodka in. Jam candy cane in. Let sit for one minute. Pull out the candy 

cane, suck on it, repeat.

Alternate for both: Stick multiple candy canes inside and let sit then hit it with a hammer and juice it.


	9. The Tortured Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which suggestions are reluctantly given.

I’m sitting in a cafe, alone in a corner, typing. Organizing spreadsheets for possible conventions at which to sell my most recent game. Headphones on. Munching on a danish. 

I jump five feet when the earbuds are pulled from my ears. 

“Hello Chew Toy. Oblivious to the world? Never a good place to be.” I take a breath and swallow the danish in my mouth. 

“Afternoon Crowley. What can I do for you?”

“Torture ideas.” I freeze. I stare, rudely, but I’m too incredulous to care.

“Pardon me?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. The King of Hell. Asking me, a mortal, for...advice on torture? Not happening. 

“I did what you said to the traitor. Very amusing. Not extremely efficient, but amusing.” I have to think back, but when I do I immediately get nauseous. Not that the guy didn’t deserve it, but...

“Wait...you actually...did that?”

“You really thought you could send me that tidbit and I wouldn't act on it? I thought you weren’t a bumbling idiot?”

“Not...usually. Uh… do you really… do you really want my ideas?”

“Yes but first, I want to know what made you laugh before I poured salt into your veins.”

“What?” He sighs and touches a finger to my head. The memory rushes back to me. Barely containing a smile when he said he was going to garnish me with salt. 

“Oh...uh.” I sit and shiver, memories I had carefully not opened up for years suddenly rushing out of the box. I swallow down the nausea. “Quote. From a game. ‘I don’t rub salt into wounds. I use sulfur.’” He raises his brows and sips his coffee. 

“Sounds fun.”

“Don’t think so. The quote has nothing to do with the actual game, just flavor.”

“Pity, but I was talking about the sulfur. So... Amaze me.”

“I...here?” I look around, pretending to be worried about people hearing me, in a corner, away from others. Putting off this conversation as long as I can. 

“Yes. Spill your guts or I’ll have someone do it for you.” I swallow and take a bite of danish and look around. I chew, swallow, and then swallow again, trying to find courage.

“Well, usually I’d tailor things to the individual. I mean, when I’m writing horror. I said when we met, physical pain...boring. Want to really fuck up someone? Go mental, emotional, fear. Anticipation is far worse sometimes. Or knowing your work is being undone. I’m...I’ve always been of the mind that torturing innocent people is boring. Uh...easy. People who have done it themselves...but know you’re better than them, half know what’s coming, can’t fight back, that could drive someone insane.”

“You also used to think death was a mercy and not a punishment.”

“Yeah, well now I know what happens after to those who are Hell bound… so.”

“You mean I changed your worldview? How lovely to be appreciated. However, everything you’ve said so far? Not new ideas. You’re so eager to create? Create.” I swallow. I close my eyes. I made a deal. I had to. I take a breath and start talking. And don’t stop. If I don’t stop. I can’t think about what I’m saying. 

“Tailoring things to individuals is too time consuming. Tailoring it to their contract types, or their vices, streamlines it.”

“Already done that. Eons ago.” I swallow. Plan going downhill already. He wanted amusing, not efficient, amusing. Just keep talking. 

“I...a vain demon in an old person's body, or a young child who can never mature. A...a pedophile...I... I can’t do this.”

“How unfortunate then, that you have to. Besides. I know for a Fact that you can. Darling, I was inside your head. If I put you on the rack, you’d turn faster than any human soul I’ve ever seen.” I flinch. 

“You’re lying.”

“Just because you aren’t evil, out there doing evil things, doesn’t mean you don’t have Talent for it.” He looks at me as he sips his coffee. I look at the cup. Latte, whole milk. “No matter how good, how pure you act, how bad you feel at the thought of hurting nice people, you have a proclivity for my way of things. I mean, it’s how you write Such interesting characters, isn’t it?” I swallow, trying to breathe. I had no way of knowing if it was true, but it sounded like it could be. I sit up straight. He was a demon; it was his job to make things that could be false, ring true and sound beautiful. He was good at his job, but I couldn’t let that affect me. I look at him, his slight smile, expectant look, like he owned me. Which he did. I shake in my seat, tense up, sweat, and his smile widens. This was his job, but it was how he got off, had fun. I wouldn’t let him have fun with me. Business, on my side too, or I’d go insane right now; because I always enjoyed creating, and he was twisting it. Business. I take a breath and dive in again. 

“Look. I need constraints.”

“Really darling? In public?”

“You know what I mean. Outlines, specifics. Are you going after new souls? Or demons? How long have they been there? Are they fresh? Do they know what’s coming? High executives who have never worked a day in their life, or someone who grew up on the streets! I need something to work off of here!”

“No.”

“What?”

“No.” 

Ugh. Ok. So some of the personality he showed outside of the show was actually him. Fuck me, I’m being toyed with. There is no way I could stop him from enjoying this. After all, he’s giving me what I wanted, the chance to create, in the worst possible way. My head is running in circles. Repeating itself in my abject distress. I breathe, almost take another bite of food to buy time, but one look at it… and I gag. I steel myself and return my gaze to Crowley.

“Fine. I’ll make my own.”

“Wonderful.” Another shaky breath and shakier exhale and I begin. 

“Grammy star. Sold their soul to win a Grammy. Melt it. In front of them. Draw it out into long strips, warp it. Wrap it around them. Show them the ephemeral nature of the thing that they sold their soul for. Do it for years. With their Grammy, with others’. Show them the numerous awards they didn’t get because they were too eager to have theirs. They could be up there working to earn it, but no, they needed one right then and there. Easily replaced, forgotten within five years, never able to get it again.” I frown and shake my head. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I glare at his slight smile as he sips his coffee. “Happy?”

“No. Next.” I cringe. I had a bad feeling. 

“Surfer. Sold his soul for a contest, a new board. Whatever. Give him an eternal feeling of riding a wave, but not moving. Causes motion sickness and nausea if you feel like you are moving but don’t see it. Same for the other way around. Turn his love into something he hates. Something that makes him barf just at the mention.”

“Next.” I grit my teeth. I feel nauseous. I was getting what I wanted. I was getting a chance to be creative and have my work used, and he pointed my brain in the worst possible direction and said ‘go.’ And it scared me, how easily it came, the fact that I still enjoyed creating even in such a twisted situation. I mean, I wrote horror for fun, but this? It might actually be used. Was he right? Was I just evil? I need this to be over. Just keep talking, and it’ll be over soon.

However my mind is in such turmoil I’m having trouble coming up with ideas that are good enough for him, but don’t make me cringe at the thought of saying them aloud. I’d get to them eventually, but I was going to stall. Hopefully that didn’t void my contract. I had created to the best of my ability after all, I was just slowing down a bit now. 

“Demon. Can you trap a demon in a jar? Outside a vessel? Use a trap. Whatever. Force him to watch as other demons torture his preferred whatever.”

“Boring. These are getting worse every time.” I twitch. He knew. Knew I wasn’t giving him everything...but he wasn’t punishing me for that. Why? I had another feeling… a question.

“Then ask what you really want to know.”

“Astute. How…” he takes a sip. “Do I torture...an artist?” My gut drops. I snarl. This was never about advice. 

“You’re doing it.” I hiss out. He raises his coffee and toasts me. 

“Lovely chat.” 

And he’s gone. 


	10. The Home Away From Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a deal is fulfilled.

Time passes and I see him occasionally. He asks me my thoughts. I provide them. Sometimes they work. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes that means I get boiling water thrown on me. Sometimes I get boiling water dripped on me for no reason. Sometimes my husband holds me as I cry for hours and blame it on medication, menopause, anything but the truth. 

I can tell however he goes easy on me, as bad as it is, I can tell it isn’t his worst. It only makes me more scared. Which is probably the point. Or maybe I’m overthinking. 

Again, probably the point. He knows I have anxiety and that not knowing for me long term causes more problems than an hour of pain...or at least less problems than my insanity would cause him. I never find out if I am right about the contract. Suicide. The definition of the word tell. 

I guess it doesn’t matter. I settle into things. My life is normal...seventy six percent of the time. Fourteen percent is me fretting over the other ten percent that isn’t normal. I manage. Even endure, well ignore, the occasional blackouts. I have a feeling he is possessing me on occasion. I have no idea why. He never seems to do anything. I always wake up, same spot, clock a little later than I remember. 

Still. I manage. 

Until 6:39 pm, five days after my 45th birthday. 

I’m by myself. Sitting on a bench. Empty park. Just enjoying the night sky. The clouds. The red sunset lit ones, the slight twinkling of the earliest stars. One even shines through a red cloud, twinkling madly. A rare event. I feel good. 

And then, the cloud gets closer, and things go dark for a split second. There is pain. It’s in every fiber of my being. I gasp. Fall off the bench. Then the pain turns more calculable. My insides turn and boil and roil. My veins burn. My eyes tear. My head aches. Sharp stabbing white hot, there then gone, then back. All over. I’m afraid. Terrified. I have no clue what is happening. I can barely think, string thoughts together. Pain. 

Eventually I lie twitching on the ground, the pain slowly receding to a dull ache. I blink. I sit up and rub my eyes. 

I’m stunned I’m alive. I’m terrified that I don't know what has happened, and that it could happen again.

“ _Hello darling_.” I know the voice. It’s everywhere. I look around frantically trying to anticipate whatever is coming, but I can’t find him.

And that’s when I realize. 

“Shit.”

“ _Soul buddies_.”

“Fuck.” I get back on the bench, looking around, making sure no one saw. I look at the lamp posts, the trees, for security cameras. I breathe a sigh of relief when there aren’t any. I breathe slowly. A minute. Two. Waiting for my world to go dark. My chest aches. I can tell something is happening. I wait. 

“... _Bollocks_.” 

And I panic. 

“The fuck is going on?”

“ _Well, new territory darling. I tried to test this, but I wasn’t about to share it for someone to do R &D.” _

“...the black outs.”

“ _It feels so good to be inside you again.”_ I shudder. How many times over the years? “ _Oh the things I made you do.”_

“Five minutes at a time?”

 _“Hours. In Hell_ .” Fuck. Right. That. I scratch at my arm. It itches. Well it doesn’t. My...insides itch. “ _None of that_.” I stop scratching. I hadn’t intended to. 

“Shit.” 

“ _Wonderful.”_ I raise my right hand...or my right hand raises, and I snap my fingers. 

Nothing happens. 

“ _Bollocks.”_ I sigh. That was the one thing I was looking forward to if this ever happened. 

“Fuck. Joint custody.” I feel rage inside me. Urges I never had before. My entire body quakes as if my soul has turned into a yin yang symbol that was spinning on a broken gyroscope.

I had stood up at some point. I sit back down, queasy. 

“Great. You get a full dose of human feelings and I get a full dose of maniacal egocentric demon. Awesome. I’m gonna be sick.” 

“ _You wanted power. Congratulations.”_

“I wanted answers, or health, lack of monotony, people to work with on art! Yeah, magic would have been awesome, but it wasn’t needed!”

“ _You like it. Now. Tests…”_ I feel his mental gears turning. It was what my brain did 24/7, I recognized the feeling. 

“How about you tell me what happened the night you killed the demon this worked on?”

“ _No_.” 

“How about I see if I can find out anything by looking through you?” My body is wracked with pain, I grab the bench handle and it bends as I grip it and scream briefly before my voice just Stops.

“ _Care for another love tap?”_

 _“_ Fine I get the point. You can endure that. I can’t. Fine. Why not just put me through that until I go insane, I mean now that you’re finally here?”

“ _Joint custody. You said it.”_

Fuck this is complicated. 

“ _I hadn’t noticed.”_ Shit fuck balls cunt. It just, finally, hit me. He can hear me think. “ _Hello darling.”_

“Ok. How long do we have?”

“ _Until?”_

“I don’t know? This becomes irreversible! Till our souls merge!” There’s a laugh in my mind, cruel. Something I hope I never hear again, but know I will. It echoes around my next statement. “Till one soul consumes the other! I don’t fucking know!” The laughter fades slowly, and I have a feeling, maybe only because we are literally as close as two beings can get, but it’s a feeling. “Is that...what happened-“ I twitch, no both of us do. 

“ _Internal troubles later. We have external ones.”_

There is a beep, the sound of a car door locking. 

“ _That was way too fast. He must have a friend with a jet… I need more of those.”_

“Friends?”

“ _Jets_.”

From out behind the bushes and trees where the bench is walks a man. Suit. Tie. Normal looking. Except for the awesome presence he radiates. 

Angel. Fuck. 

“ _Exactly lover. I’ll do the talking.”_ I shake my head, then stop, realizing I’m giving a physical reaction someone could see. They know Crowley, the way he talks, his mannerisms. They don’t know me. Anything that could give us away, not worth the risk. So...Naive, confused, scared, human. And...Action.

“Where did-“ I ask the angel from afar. 

“Quiet. Did you see anything come through here?” His voice sounds normal and familiar but Feels as if it should be echoing across the park. 

“Uh...guy on a bike half an hour ago.” 

“Anything else?”

“ A crow. You a cop?” The angel ignores me as he walks closer. Trench. Suit. Brown sandy hair. No...I recognized him. Misha Collins. Castiel. No. No he wouldn’t. Couldn’t actually be. I look closer. The suit is wrong. It is black. But it is Misha Collins. 

“ _What better way to hunt your prey than to be in someone who their alter ego ‘trusts.’ Three days ago. Bloody harp playing cunt took over. Fake angel, meet real angel. I did not expect the pigeon to follow in my footsteps here. Bloody wonderful_.” I swallow. So was this actually Castiel?

“ _Don’t be daft. That’s a sobriquet. His name is-“_ our mental talk is interrupted by our unwanted guest. 

“My data shows that the person I am searching for came through here. Maybe even stopped. I-“ the angel pauses and looks at me. Regarding me with eyes that are hard, questioning. 

“ _Give me control. Now.”_ I hadn’t known I’d been keeping it from him. “ _Now Chew Toy! Or we Both die!”_

“Your soul. It’s… slightly off.” I blink at the comment from the angel. I hadn’t known that. I don’t know what it means. 

“My what?” I take a step back. “Ok, Uhm. Nice talking to you. I’m gonna go.” I try to sound nervous and weirded out by the comment. Not hard considering I am on the verge of a full blown panic attack. 

_“Now Chew Toy!”_ The angel is suddenly beside me. Hand outstretched. My body begins to ache as two souls try to use a body at once. 

“This won’t hurt at all, just relax.” The familiar voice echoes in front of me, a man I knew, a character I knew, perhaps just an archetype....

“ _Chew Toy!”_ Right. Be here, now...Relax. Relinquish control. I keep backing up, the angel continues toward me. Fuck, I didn’t know how to relax when I was just me. How could I even hope to do it now? Why would I?

“ _They are going to find out I’m here! Read your Mind. Find out you’ve a deal! I’m stronger! Chew Toy! Lover! Darling!”_ I take a breath, try to relax. Let Go. All I can see is the hand coming closer. Everything is in slow motion. 

And then something happens that I never expected. 

“ _Rebecca!”_

I’m startled. I’m shaken by the unexpected name change that showed I am slightly a person and not just a toy. It could be true, could be a ruse, but either way I’m startled. 

And when someone is startled, they don’t have control. 

And everything goes dark. 


	11. The Soul Buddies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which poor choices and discoveries happen.

I wake up to find myself regarding my reflection in the mirror. A suit. More expensive than anything I could ever afford. I try to move my arm, nothing happens. 

“Hello darling” I blink. Right. Shit. The voice is mine, but the manner of speech...not at all. I… no He turns and dusts off my shoulder. “You look far better in a suit than I thought you would.” Fuck off. “No really. Grey was a bust. Black and red, pinstripes, not my usual style, but it works for now.” I mean...I look good, but fuck off...and how long have I been out? “You’re on vacation. You got given money by a friend.” No. He wouldn’t be that stupid. They could trace bank accounts. “Cash. Box. Buried in the ground. Not hard. Both you and I took precautions the night after we met.” I sigh. I hoped that no one was worried. Worry meant they could get involved. I, he, turns in the mirror, then satisfied with what he sees puts the old clothes in a bag. Jeans, albeit expensive ones, and a dress shirt. He talks as he folds them, updating me; perhaps so I could help, perhaps to torment me. 

Probably both.

“Sent your lover presents and a very well taken nude. You’re fine.” I don’t send nudes. “You do now. Either way he isn’t worried. He’s too busy at a teacher conference.” I, he walks away from the dressing room and goes to pay for the suit. As we pass rows and rows of clothes I feel sick. Crowley has control, has had control. What had he done while… “Nothing. Infuriatingly nothing. Hell it’s been boring pretending to be you. Staying under the radar.” If I could grin I would. I couldn’t imagine it. The King of Hell, playing board games, painting, reading comics, playing video games, or sitting around watching tv. 

“I played a lot of that phone game that involves walking around. Well, fake played, had to let god’s little programs with wings see me. Now be a good little Chew Toy and be quiet.”

I reach the counter and as I...he talks to the clerk I notice the change in speech patterns. He sounds like me. Apparently he’d adapted quickly. I watch the transaction. Cash. $500. I’d never pay for clothes that expensive unless it was full fucking plate armor. I go to shake my head to clear it. It doesn’t happen. I try to look in the mirror we pass by, more closely at myself. He allows it. 

I have a Bluetooth in my right ear. Gold jewelry. I hate gold. I hope he hadn’t worn it at home regularly, my husband would know something was wrong. But my makeup is on point and my hair looks great. I breathe a sigh of relief he hadn’t cut it. Well, figuratively I breathe a sigh of relief. I apparently can’t do a damn thing unless he lets me...or I somehow manage to wrest control. 

“Oh don’t worry. I saw that picture of you with a short cut. Now-“ I ignore him, somehow, looking for anything to show the date. I could see what he saw. Taste. Smell. Experience everything despite the fact that I am trapped. 

I am a prisoner that can rattle a cage. It is terrifying, yet relaxing in a sick way, to sit back and watch someone else live my life. Still. I needed info-.

“If you stop mentally bouncing around I’ll tell you!”

I’m caught off guard. I wonder if he’d had to deal with my mental pathways and channels… memories. I push the thought away, trying to focus on the information I have. If there was a convention my husband was at, it was at least a couple weeks later. I think...

“Months. Try months.” My body jerks, or missteps as I have a short burst of panic. Immediately he straightens and continues walking as if nothing happened. But inside... Pain wracks through my body again and I keep walking. “Try that again.” 

Accident, from shock. Not something I can really control. 

“Try harder bitch.”

I’m uncomfortable. I really want him to talk in his normal voice, normal mannerisms. This was weird. Hearing myself, my voice… the way he is talking… confuses me. I am getting nauseous trying to understand.

“Really darling, even more reason to. You’ll need to get used to it quickly, it is very much, the least of your concerns.” Of course, that was emphatically true. “Also, if you don’t calm down, Right Now, and make the nausea go away, I’ll-” What? Torture me? The nausea will just get worse.

“No. I’ll barf and ruin my new suit!” I mean...also true. “Now. Questions? Comments? Or is the peanut gallery gonna shut the fuck up?” I cringe. I finally get why this is unnerving. He is talking in a warped combination of our styles of speech. In my voice. I don’t want to hear it, but… it is curious. Is it intentional? Is that the norm for right now and it took effort to be him, or me? Will that stop? Anyway, I think back to the last thing I remember, trying to orient myself. 

“Very well. The pretty pigeon tried to read us. Thankfully, I just brought up your lovely suicidally depressive past and he took that as a reason for your sad, tainted, weird, grey soul. Idiot. Good thing I tortured you to add more layers to that scar. All that childhood grief came right back up easily.” Great. Wonderful. Years of self work, meds, and therapy down the drain. At least my past trauma came in useful for once, for him. “Very.” 

We’re walking down a street, sunny, very warm. Too warm for a suit, but the demon…

“Love it. Just like home.” Seriously. Weird hearing my own voice. This mixed mannerism of talking. I wonder why it isn’t all me or all him. I can’t stop focusing on it for some reason…

I get a jolt of pain. 

“Puts a bit of pep in the step, doesn’t it?” I doubt that is what it was for but I take the hint and abandon the question. I take in the surroundings. It’s a city I don’t recognize. But it’s not on the East Coast... I think. 

“Wrong. Chicago.” What are we doing in Chicago?

“Trying to get my vessel back.” I feel a twitch and look to the right. Homeless man. Hat held out, being shaken back and forth in front of a sign that says “anything helps.” Crowley bends over and looks in. There are a bunch of coins but also three twenties. I...He smiles and slowly puts two $20 bills in there. I can see a white piece of paper in one. “Hope it gets better.” The man nods, thanking us, Crowley, profusely and continues to shake the hat without looking in. Mixing all the money around. 

Demon?

“Of course.” He says as we continue to walk. I wonder about the danger of contacting them. “I can sense them...they can’t sense me. I’m hiding in your soul like a girl behind the shower curtain. Everyone wants to take a peek, but you’re a very opaque curtain. Even an angel won’t see anything unless they get close, and it’s still not a telling sign. Glad we terminated part 4.1.2.3.2 of our contract. Oh the places I could go.” We continue walking as I wonder at the statement. I was hiding him...an added benefit. I wondered how many other benefits there were to his being in...or behind, or next to, my soul. Crowley ignores the curiosity for now and continues to explain the demonic interaction we just had. “He is not going to know where that note came from. Just that he somehow got orders from his king.” They believe you’re still alive? “New crop of demons, remember? All of them are the ones running things. The big things. And They don’t want me to fail. They adore me. Half of them are role players who love playing a part and breaking it at just the right moment. So if I give them a script, they follow it. They adored me while they were alive, they adored me when I said I’d turn them into demons, they endured the wrack; and now they adore me because I fill their vices. They...love me.” Wow. He worked fast with that, and he had finally gotten that ‘love’ he wanted. “Had to, and I always get what I want. Now...as much as it bothers me. I need to eat.” I cringe. What would he eat? A person cooked into something? Something alive? But he turns and walks into a sushi restaurant. I’m surprised. 

“Human body. Human soul. Human needs. Moving your body through your soul, like a puppet master, is difficult. Usually it’s more direct, it’s taken some getting used to.” I wonder why he’s explaining things to me...perhaps it amused him to watch me try to understand. 

He sits and looks at the menu. He, I...we weren’t very hungry. It was like it was numbed. “I’ve been working on that for weeks and weeks. Finally, I only have to eat once every two days. Gods it was annoying at first. Eating, drinking, and going to the bathroom. It took up so much time.” I chuckle. Yeah. I felt the same way. I’d wanted to be a vampire for the longest time just so I didn’t have to deal with those trivialities. I can’t imagine this demon doing such inane activities. This is definitely not a normal possession.

“Excruciatingly so. I still have to eat every two days or I get nauseous. Why?” If I could laugh I would. So that’s why he was explaining things. He wanted an answer and couldn’t find it in me. I wasn’t surprised. I often forgot that it happened and would get nauseous because I didn’t eat. 

“Very interesting. Answer the question.” 

It took me years to figure out, and there wasn’t really a cure. 

“You’re sick, and I didn’t know this...how?” Because nearly everyone has the disease, I just had an acute case. 

“You are trying my patience.”

I’m stressed. 

“Of course you are, you’re being ridden like a 2 bit whore.“

No. I mean that’s the cause. I’m tense. I’m stressed. Scared. Anxiety ridden. Twenty four hours a day, three hundred sixty five days a year. That eventually starts to mess with your body. I could laugh. He was moving my body through my soul, I was still there, I was still stressed. Even with my actual soul unconscious I was still stressed. 

I mean it didn’t surprise me, if anyone could be stressed while they were unconscious it would be me, but the fact that this demon had to deal with that? Well that amuses me to no end. My stress finally had done something interesting for me. 

I can feel Crowley fuming. That something so human could make him do anything. I wondered if he had been taking my medications. If he hadn’t I wonder how fucked I’ll be when he leaves. I wonder what the effects and intricacies of a human soul, versus the broken body, mixed with the medication, mean. Would I be stressed still if I left the thing I had to medicate so its neural pathways worked right?

I pause, and wonder how he is dealing with the emotions. Constant, full contact, with a human soul. 

“You’ve been asleep. So, fine.” I somehow feel that isn’t completely true, but whatever. 

We order, he orders. Two rolls. The most expensive. $30 dollars for two fucking rolls. He seems unconcerned. He eats. 

Everything is very fishy, not my favorite, but apparently he likes it and I have no say. Silence reigns between us for a bit as I think, and he no doubt listens. 

My game will be out for sale now. I hope the sales are doing well. Crowley doesn’t give me an answer besides eating sushi and checking...my phone. Fuck. I hope he hadn’t deleted my pictures. 

He opens my email account. The first one at the top is a new email from a distributor. He opens it and it says they are not interested in distributing my game, but would be interested in doing so if they could manage all my past games, and new ones. Well, that is good news. He replies and says that ‘I am thankful for the offer but need time to consider it.’ Standard reply. He opens another email. From someone I don’t know. An editor. For books.

The email says that the first draft for the first book was good, and to send in the first draft for the second book next week. 

He had written...my books. 

The phone clatters to the table as I, we struggle for air, choking on the sushi. Furious. Anger. Now panic. He coughs once, twice, and breath returns to our lungs. We gasp and wave to assure others we are fine. We breathe for a moment, both seething mad. He raises a hand to a passing waitress, inquires about the bathroom, and once there locks the door. An episode of terror and anger in less than a minute. 

“You nearly killed me! Do NOT try that again, do NOT try to wrest control from me!” I fume. Those were my Books. Mine. 

He slams his fist against the counter. “And I had nothing to do but act natural for months while the angels watched you! They only gave up two days ago! Two! The inanity I endured! Three meals. Going to work. Writing those books. While my body sat guarded by cherubs with guns!! If I attacked while you were asleep, so far from my preferred meat suit...what they would have done to it… what would have happened if I...” He pauses, not wanting to give me any information on that...I could tell… somehow.

He stares at the mirror, my face unrecognizable with the anger he has painted on it. Our hands grip the sides of the sink, the enamel cracks slightly. He takes a breath and stands up. “They were almost done anyway.” The books… Right… I mean yeah, but there were some bridges I needed to build between plot points and develop some- “I’m in your head! I know. We have more important matters to discuss. Your book series, a hard 7 on the list of important things right now, soft 6. For instance, surviving Lunch! Can you manage not to fucking choke me before I finish?” I mean. As long as there weren’t any more revelations, probably. He pauses, and nods. “I suppose I can get them out of the way now.” He snaps my fingers and a piece of paper appears in my hand. He had apparently gotten a hold of that trick while I was asleep. 

We look at the paper, it’s a map of a building, a hotel. Lines and dots and pathways all leading to a large red circle. “My meat suit. In a stasis spell. Guarded by angels who I am sure believe I will come for it. They are right, of course. But I’m not going in with an army. I’m going in as a lost human… an assassin. I’m going in as the king. Immortal. All the best parts of humanity.” Best parts? The fact that he thought anything about us was good surprises me. He grins with my face and snaps again. A small flask appears in his hand out of the ether. He unscrews the top and I am immediately worried for some reason. 

“Holy water, with a pinch of salt. Not the safest beverage I must say but...bottoms up darling.” I tense for the pain, and it comes. Like drinking scalding tea. My stomach churns a bit as the liquid hits. It feels awful. Crowley however, is elated. 

“That’s all. No smoke, no burning. Burns even less now that you are awake.” He pours some out on my hand and I wince. It feels like lemon on an open cut. But he’s right. No smoking. As long as we didn’t react, no one would know. 

“I even had a priest try to exorcise me.” My, his, grin grows wider. “It didn’t work. And the priest was delicious.” Wait. What!? “Kidding darling. Probably. Either way, your soul is a shield. Where it counts...I’m human.” He claps his, my hands, together and then dries them off. “Now. Important order of business. I’d like to finish my lunch.”

We leave a $20 tip and head out. 

“I’d like to get this over with tonight. But there is one thing I want to do first. Very important.” We walk to a hotel...the hotel where his body is kept? 

“Also…” he takes out a card key. “Our room.” Wouldn’t that be suspicious, me being in the hotel where your body is? “If they had continued watching me, I’m sure it would have been. I changed hotels two days ago.” The door opens and we head to the bar. There is no one else here except the bartender. We twitch as we get near. 

Demon? Angel?

“Darling. An angel could never be a bartender. They have to have people skills. Use your head Chew Toy. Oh...wait. You can’t. It’s mine.” Dude. A rest with the taunts. Getting old and I don’t care. “Yes, I had noticed you haven’t really fought me for control here. You’ve practically given it up like a cheap whore.” I don’t really think it’s worth wasting energy on. We’re drawing from the same mana pool here. We are gonna need that later. “Knew you were a smart cookie.” We reach the bar and we sit down. The bartender is burly...was burly. Now he’s a demon. Either way he smiles at us and asks what we want. 

“Margarita. Heavy on the salt.” I see the demon frown for a half second before nodding and I watch him put on a pair of latex gloves. But seriously. That’s why we are here? So you can get a last salt kick before you leave? 

Crowley takes out my phone and places a call, to 666. I panic, worried about angels hearing it. Not knowing if this was part of a plan. But the call goes straight to ‘cannot be reached’. Of course. It’s been months. That phone’s battery is dead. He holds the phone face down in his hands and taps the Bluetooth. 

“Hello darling. Yes. I wanted a drink. I won’t be able to have anymore soon so I’m enjoying it while I can.” Holy Hell. A full conversation in plain sight, with a broken Bluetooth. That’s what he’s been doing the whole time...I just hadn’t thought of it… thought the bluetooth might actually work… but no. It was in my book, my idea, broken bluetooth to have mental conversations in plain sight...if you weren’t particularly skilled at keeping your mouth shut. Although I doubted that was the reason Crowley was doing it... “I told you, I was bored. I had the time. Months to read those books.” Months. What about his family? “I told my friends to send a nice letter saying I was away working on a top secret show, it may run out of funding soon however. They even have voice recordings to send them if they get lonely.” Jesus Christ. Did he actually care, or was he that prepared?

“Language! I don’t want that kind of word bouncing around in my head.” The drink comes and Crowley puts it on the room card. He toasts the bartender who smiles, taking off the latex gloves. 

We take a sip. Fuck it’s salty. It stings. “Lovely. Just the right amount.” Why are we really here Crowley? I mean, there is no way this is just about a drink. And why are you being so forthcoming?

“All the information in the world doesn’t matter if you can’t act on it. Besides, we are rooting for the same team, always will be.” Team Crowley. Wonderful. And we are here because? And you’re talking out loud instead of thinking because?

“Give a girl a moment. I know you adore the sound of my voice but give me a second to take a drink.” I seethe. 

All this elaborate scheming because he knew I’d hate the sound of my voice melding and mixing with his mannerisms. Knew before I even woke up. “Love you.” And there is nothing I can do. “Astute as ever. Now, I’m here waiting for a friend. They are supposed to call me after they finish a job. So here I am, enjoying your company till they show.” He sips again. The salt burns. I can tell he likes it. Sadomasochist. “Really? This is a revelation to you? I’m surprised it took you this long.” Just then the bartender’s phone rings. He answers and immediately his face turns serious. 

“The big guy? Really? Knew he’d be back, the story couldn’t have ended that easily. Ok. Done before when? Shit. Ok. Send me the info and I’ll get on it.” He hangs up and begins to clean up the bar. “Sorry ma'am. I’m gonna need to ask you to finish up. I have a personal emergency I need to attend to.” I smile, Crowley smiles. Fanboy demon. Holy Hell. 

Crowley hands the bartender a $20 and downs the drink. 

“Don’t worry about it. I completely understand.” With a wave we walk away. What the Hell just happened?

“That note. Instructions. We need to turn off that Christian radio and prep for the party. Can’t have any of the employees leaving before the surprise.” Ah. Warding. But why? If we, you, are an assassin, then they will never see us. Ideally. 

“Never take a chance when you can stack the deck. Also, to quote a singer whose career was actually on her own merit, girls just wanna have fun. I’m very overdue to paint the town red. It’s been two months. A girl has Needs darling.” I cringe at the word, at its odd sound in my mouth. He somehow, even in my voice, made it sound like him. I push the thought away. So you were lying about the priest? You didn’t kill him? Eat him?

“I’ll never tell.” By this time we arrive at the hotel room. We open it and Crowley double locks it behind us. I take in the room as Crowley sets aside the bag of clothes. It is as immaculate as he has made me. I’m sure the bed has never been slept in. When was the last time I...this body slept? 

“Three days ago. I’m quite excited to see what will happen when I leave your body. There is no clause in our contract about the deal breaking if you die from me leaving.” He smirks. “I’m sure the cause of death will be from your empty heart.” I roll my nonexistent eyes as he turns to the bed and pulls a suitcase out from under it. Setting it on top, he opens it to reveal, nothing of interest. Files, some makeup...I chuckle at the thought of him putting it on himself.

“So quick to judge by looks.” He pulls up the back inner lining and there in the center, encircled by many runes, shines a very familiar blade. He takes it out and does a few practice jabs. They feel powerful. 

“Of course they do. You’re rooming with the King of Hell. Has some perks.” Yeah. That I don’t get to enjoy. “Oh well.” He holds the blade and tests it’s top. Sharp as ever. “Now. When we reach my body I might need you to scratch away a demon trap. Depending on how things turn out. Just take the blade and scratch.” I know. Not that hard. “It shouldn’t be, but I’ve had people mess that up.” He sets the blade down and smiles. “Time for the final pieces.” He opens a dresser drawer and inside are ties. Black. 

He stands in front of the mirror and puts on the tie. It had been at least a decade since I wore one. Once satisfied with the outcome he begins to work on my hair. A pony tail. No chance of it being in my face. I snicker. 

“What? You find it funny that I know how to do this? Darling. I’ve been inside many women, in more than one way.” He then places the blade under the bed inside the suitcase, but outside the runes. He opens the bedside drawer and retrieves a gun, complete with a waist holster. 

“I got you a license while you were gone. Open carry and everything. Took your hubby to the shooting range. Had a grand time, had a better evening.” 

Ok. Not. Cool. 

We twitch, dropping the holster. He curses, I scream. I scream as loud as I can in our head. I had been agreeable, mostly, and had stated my intentions not to fight him. 

He really doesn’t expect the attack. He could literally feel all my emotions and hear any plot I made. One advantage of having ADHD; I often forget to think before I act. Normally a bad thing. Here? A great advantage. I didn’t know the plan until I started enacting it. He is quite startled. And because he is startled…

He doesn’t have control. 


	12. The Reclaimed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a fight is followed by drinks.

I slip back into my body like an old pair of jeans. I stretch. It feels good. 

_“How dare you_!” I grin. The voice is inside my head now, it sounds like him.

“Oh it’s so good to hear your voice again. I never thought I’d miss it, but I did.” My whole body lurches forward as he wrestles me for control. “Chill. I literally want to do one thing.” He calms, curious. 

_“I hope it’s worth the pain I’ll put you through for this_.”

“Probably not, but it’s why I’m doing one thing and not fucking leaving.”

“ _If you mess up this plan....”_ I pause. 

“Can an angel sense when you do that snap summoning thing?”

“ _No_.”

“Great.” I have no idea how this would work, but I have a theory. And I‘m not about to ask him. That wouldn’t do me any good. 

“ _You’re right.”_

I concentrate on what I want and how much I want it here, and snap my fingers. 

“ _Really?”_

I grin. In my hand is an ordinary plain red rock. 

“ _Really Chew Toy? Anything in the world you could summon, and that’s what you want_?”

“C’mon. A rock from Hell is gonna sit front and center in my collection.”

“ _And you did it on the first try. Congratulations. Now-”_

“I have the king of fucking Hell with me. I think you’d be insulted if I couldn’t do it on the first try. Ok. I’m done.”

“ _Count of three for a startling shock.”_

 _“_ You’re gonna do it on two I k-“ The pain is excruciating and unexpected. I feel myself falling back, then pushed down. 

Crowley sighs as he straightens the suit jacket, but I notice he humors me and drops the rock in the suitcase. 

“That was entirely foolish, pig headed, and utterly stupid.” Small revenge for Fucking my husband. Show you I’m still capable of playing that game, messing shit up. 

“I never said I fucked your stupid boy toy. I said we had a lovely night. Big difference. Also...wait for it.” He stands in front of the mirror, sucking his… my tongue. “We never discussed how long your ‘punishment’ in Hell lasts if you mess with the machinations of Hell. I’d say going directly against my orders counts. At least I say so, and that’s what matters. So...disobey me Once...” He pauses and I feel a chill. A feeling that I was never going to come back from this.

Ever.

“That first little trick you played with the salt...wasn’t actually disobeying, but right after you made me choke today... I said…’don’t you dare fight me.” He says as he checks the safety on the gun, that it’s loaded, and straps on the belt under the jacket. I feel an odd slight sinking feeling, a feeling I had just damned myself in a way I hadn’t thought possible. “Your finite stint as a Chew Toy...just became an eternal one.” Our stomach drops. Crowley sighs, allowing it, enjoying it. “There, now that’s the emotional torment I like to feel. Wonderful seeing a plan come to fruition.” And that’s when I knew, he had yet again beaten me.

He had thought of this not long after I made him trip… I knew it, felt it. He had shown me that book deal to rile me up so he could give the order to not retaliate, but in relation to something so it wouldn’t seem out of the blue...wouldn’t seem like something to pay attention to and worry about….Then he needled and played me into thinking he fucked my husband. And I fell for it. 

“Hook line and sinker darling. You’re lucky sex isn’t one of my main vices. I saw a lovely young couple today that I would have eaten up.” He was trying to distract me from my anxiety, my overwhelming fear. Why?

“I have had eons of dealing with that emotion, I’d like something new. Or at least that I haven’t tried in a while. Actually...to put you through cheating on your husband. That might be a wonderful feeling.” I shudder. “Just to experience love, or even sex, with a human soul touching mine so closely? Now that, I might get addicted to. While you were asleep, boring, but now? Well, I think we might just have time.”

The taunt has no teeth to it. He may have charm, but he has no status, and he looks like a 45 year old woman. An ok looking one, but not alluring by any means. 

“The suit helps.” Yeah. But not enough. “You really have quite the self esteem issue. I promise I could get someone back to this room in fifteen mi-“

Without paying them? Yeah, no.

“...in an hour!” I chuckle. He looks at the clock and shakes his head. 

“Speaking of time.” Go time? “Just waiting for the signal.” What’s the signal?

As soon as I ask there is a loud crash from outside. The sound of screeching tires. Shouting, and the words “You’re fucking innocent angelic face is pissing me off! This is your goddamn fault!”

“Go time.”

He walks up the stairs toward the top floor. Penthouse. Why was it always in one of these?

“Because I like comfort and that’s where I died.” 

And why do you want this body so much? It’s Just a body.

“I’m partial to it. And all the suits I’ve bought are in its size. Also, it has a family. MY family. And I’m not done with them yet.” I shudder. A demon with a family. If anyone touched them...claimed them, tried to replace him. They were his, and he didn’t like people touching His things. I couldn’t imagine what he’d do to anyone who messed with them.

“I can. I did. The angels found me, that's why I’m here. They will Never touch them.” How can he possibly ensure that? He, I… so confusing, my body smiles. “Runes; in the walls, on their clothes, on jewelry, on the car. Also… I made it very clear before they killed me, as clear as I possibly could, that if they went within a mile of my family they would be dragged down to Hell and I would Find Out if I could turn an angel into a demon. And they know I didn’t die.” Wow. He really cared about this family. The blood must have fucked him up worse- “No. They are mine. Mine to experience.” Ah...got it.

Before I can ponder the validity of the statement we push open the door to the top floor. He sticks my head out and looks both ways. No one. We exit and begin circling around the outer hall. The carpet is red with gold flowers...and some burns. Matches the drape to our left, which is scorched and torn. Housekeeping had not been up here to fix it after the fight. I do however glance at the only window visible, due to said burned drapes, and see a tell-tail bit of red spray paint. Crowley sees it too and nods. The warding was indeed up. 

We start to circle the halls but not seconds into our stroll and we twitch as a man rounds the corner. He stops when he sees me. 

Angel. 

An Asian man with fine features, a black suit and a posture that exudes a ‘holier than thou’ feeling. Crowley keeps walking forward. 

“Hey. I’m looking for a friend?” He says, infuriatingly in my voice. 

“This floor is off limits.”

“Yeah but she said she rented this suite?” We are close to him now. 

“Then she lied.” 

“That doesn’t sound like her. I had a really important message for her. Perhaps you could take it to her.”

“She’s not here.”

“Please?” We stop right next to him and look up at the man who is a good 3 inches taller. 

“Fine, but it will do no good… wait...you’re that woman with the grey soul.” He...we… grin. It was too cinematic not to. A slight wave and a thought brings the blade into our hand as he lunges into the chest of the angel. 

“The king’s back.” I sigh in relief as he whispers in his normal voice. Weird as it is coming from my body, it is still better than that weird mixture. 

Crowley stretches his neck as the corpse slides from the blade, and with a big smile I’ve never seen on his own face, we round the corner. 

Three more angels later and he is wiping the dripping blade on one of their suits. It is time to go in. 

“Right through the front doors darling. Big entrance.” We push open the door waving the blade back and forth. 

“Pardon but-“

“Hello Castiel.” The angel stands guard in front of the circle. It’s obvious and bright red on the ceiling. The circle that is holding, protecting, and preserving Crowley's body. The angel pauses at Crowley’s voice coming from my body. He looks at me, confused. 

“How long have you been torturing this woman with whatever twisted plot you have now?” I laugh silently. Crowley smiles. 

“Truly? Not even four hours. She fell asleep after the first fifteen minutes and just woke up today.” 

“So you’ve…”

“Been in here since the start? You are always two steps behind giraffe.” The gun is out and has shot two rounds before I even know that Crowley was thinking of doing it. Castiel yells in pain but gathers himself and rushes forward. I panic, but Crowley just stands there. We have to move! Smiting power of God! Move! I gasp as the hand touches our head and I tense waiting for the pain. 

It’s brief. Just barely starts. And we stand. 

“Having a little potency problem Cas? I hear there is medicine for that.” The angel looks at us, backing away. 

“How?” He says in a demanding voice, one that just barely covers the confusion and fear. 

Crowley just smiles. 

“If I tell you how the magic trick works then it’s not magic anymore is it?”

“But-“

“Get over yourself! You. Lost. This. Round.” 

“Why are you here Crowley?” We both blink. 

“You have my body dickhead.” And with that I feel a weight lift from me as a red smoke with a slight shimmer and a point of light fills the room. It rushes through the air and into the body lying on the floor. There is one deep intake of breath, and many from me as I fall to the floor panting, then Crowley sits up. He looks around a moment, tucks a phone back into his pocket and stands. He dusts himself off and smiles, leaning forward in a slightly eager way. 

“Miss me?” The words are basically a trademark by now and very infuriating. Castiel walks toward him, angel blade out, pointing at his chest. 

“No way out Crowley. You Will lose this time, everything.”

“We’ll see, the funny thing about that is even when I lose, I win.” He says with a glance in my direction. I chuckle at the deleted line from the show, but before I can ponder its inaccuracy in this situation Castiel rushes Crowley. I have no time to even think before he runs the blade through the demon’s gut. 

The effect is instantaneous. Light flashes through his corpse, and he fizzles, falling to the ground. Cas, whether that is the angel's real name or an insult from Crowley, pulls out the blade and turns to me. 

“You’re free now. You can go as-“ I just shake my head and point at the body. Cas looks back as the red smoke with the slightest glitter to it and a single point of white light rushes out and fills the ceiling. 

“But…” The smoke circles and dives toward me, I brace for what’s coming, but it doesn’t make much difference. I’m pushed down internally as the smoke fills my every atom. The pain is far far less than the first time, but I still feel like I’m being crushed, even if it’s by a feather bed. 

“Really skeleton wings? It didn’t work before, why would it work now? Are you daft?” Says Crowley in his own voice as he raises my brows at the angel. Cas once again rushes over and I gasp as the blade sinks into me. It’s excruciating. 

Darkness falls. I fade into a feeling of flying, a wonderful weightlessness fills my stomach; and then I sink, like a roller coaster just after it’s peaked. As if a stone is tied to my foot. As if I’m damned. 

And then there is light. I blink. I try to move but can’t. I’m in Crowley. I watch from within as he gets up and looks at the trapping circle, and steps out it. As he looks up I see the bullet hole he had shot in the outer rim. Crowley grins. At Castiel's anger, at my confusion. 

“I love our little play dates, but this is getting repetitive.” 

“You will die.” The anger in the angel’s voice is guttural and cold as he stalks toward us. Crowley is as calm as ever. 

“Ah...no.” We are once again impaled by the blade. The pain courses through Crowley, and fades slowly. He bursts out, dragging me with him, and flies in a circle, a miasma of red with white dots, and a white sphere trapped in the eye of the storm. I know that if Cas could grab me, if that was possible, Crowley would die finally...but wrapped in him I can’t do a thing; and with his will near supplanting my own right now, I don’t want to. 

I feel a tug in some unnamed direction, then in another, and they equal out...vanishing into nothing. We fall back into the body below us and I’m pushed down. Crowley sighs as he straightens himself once again, still impaled on the blade, glaring at the confused angel in front of him. 

“Really? Couldn’t you have at least aimed For The Same Spot! I have Three holes in my suit now!” Cas stares at the blade and lets go, stepping back. 

“I don’t...this is impossible.”

“No. Very. I’m here. I’m immortal. And I’m the King of Fucking Hell!” Castiel backs away as Crowley looks at the blade in his gut and pulls it out. It hurts so much, I can’t stand another dose of this extreme pain and I almost pass out; but a mental slap from my bunkmate keeps me awake. 

“Look, skeleton wings. I really think there’s only one option here...” And Crowley throws the angel just outside the door with a gesture. “Fuck. Off.” And with a flick of the wrist the door slams shut. 

Crowley sighs and puts his hands in his pockets. Looking around the room. 

“Well that was fun.” 

...Ow. I forgot a soul could actually hurt. Fuck.

“Ah. Right.” Crowley walks over to my body, a hole in the gut that’s bleeding out my soulless husk. He stares at it. Not saving me. Voiding our contract. 

“Contract never mentions unnatural death at the hands of my enemies voiding anything darling.” Fuck. Balls. He was right. I thought I was ok at the game, but he... 

“You were acceptable for a human, I’m just out of your league.” He stands over my body, spilling red and gasping as it dies. He stands and watches as breath leaves it, and its heart stops. I cringe. I am dead. An unnatural death by angel. 

Angels aren’t exactly ‘natural’ but Supernatural. Crowley pauses, I can feel his mind working. He thinks and then nods. 

He snaps and I see my chest lurch. He snaps again, and my chest lurches again, and breath returns to the body. He is reviving it… He kneels and waves his hand over the hole, and it disappears. 

“Right. Off you go.” I feel a push as he opens his mouth. I float away and an unmeasurable feeling of vulnerability surrounds me. It is awful, but I feel a familiar tug, then a push, and I race towards something that feels like home. 

I blink. Move my wrist. Good. Move my arms. Goodish. Sit up. Not good. 

“Fuck I’m sore.” 

“But alive. See. I keep my promises.”

“Great. Thanks. It means so much. Can you help me up?” Crowley looks at me and snaps his fingers. 

We are both sitting in a bar. I don’t know where, but the second after we arrive every head turns to look at us. I freeze. I look around, and as I look, every pair of eyes turns black. 

“Hello boys. Miss me?” There is a slight murmur, and then scared whispers and quiet happy exclamations fill the air. “Go spread the word, the king is back. Rewards and punishments will be dealt out shortly.” There is silence. “Now!” Every seat shifts and the demons start to leave. “Not you. I’d like you to make...my secondary. Two.” The bartender pauses and nods. 

I’m shaken. Confused. I’m Tired, physically, mentally, emotionally, and in my very soul. I feel like I’m missing more than just a tiny bit. I look at him, the king, my contract holder, the demon I had helped make immortal so I wouldn’t die...and realize what I’ve done in my selfishness, my paranoia, my eagerness to create, to please anyone. 

I always did move too fast. Not think about my ideas...I don’t even want to imagine my pain if I had become a demon and had this idea...had tried it myself...and he found out. I shudder.

“Good thoughts?” I look at him as he speaks.

“How...how did we survive that? The first attack? I understand the flitting back and forth but… the first and last attacks should have killed us. If we survived that...how did you kill the other demon?”

Crowley smirks.

“Why should I tell you? If you know you could tell someone.”

“And void my contract?”

“For the greater good? I’ve seen people do it for less.” He wasn’t wrong. I was considering it. “If you tell, and I don’t die, I will not put you through what I have planned for you. But I will force you to watch as I do it to countless others. For eternity.” I look at him. Too tired to argue. Too tired to fight. Just curious and afraid. If curiosity killed the cat, and satisfaction brought him back, I was Schrodinger’s. 

“So. How did we survive the first attack? Can I at least know that?” He sits in silence, tension rising for an eternity in what is obviously only three or four seconds. 

“We are greater than the sum of our parts. Two souls sharing a body, are just two souls, individuals that can be killed or expelled by the same wave of light. Combine those two souls…” he raises his glass and toasts me. 

“So wait, if he had just pushed a bit harder we’d both be gone?” 

“No. Probably not. It’d render that meat suit uninhabitable though.”

“So how-“

“I’ll tell you when you come home.”

“Home?” He chuckles. 

“Chew Toy. I’ve been inside you for two months, you’ve been my home away from home. I will return the favor someday, eternally.” I shudder. 

“What about the demon you killed? When you tested this? How’d he die?”

“Because he was an idiot who panicked when he went back into his body and let the complete human soul float to Hell.”

“And you held on?”

“Darling, I couldn’t have let you go if I wanted to.” 

The bartender comes back with two drinks, pink. I immediately grab it and take a sip... and stare at Crowley. Grapefruit gins, heavier on the tonic. Crowley toasts me and sips his own. The bartender looks at me, then Crowley. Crowley pauses and nods permission to ask a question. 

“Who’s the human boss?” Crowley sips from the drink and looks at me, with a gaze I haven’t seen before. Hunger? Pride? Eagerness?

“A snack. Now, get out.”

Shit. 

The demon hurries away, none too eager to be around the king who was obviously about to enjoy some play time, lest he become part of that fun. I look at Crowley; king, demon, mastermind, addict...who knows what else. I try my best to continue on as if he hadn’t just declared I was nothing more than food, and in what capacity I don’t know. 

“So I’ve been promoted from Chew Toy?” I say as I sip at the tangy drink. Crowley just swirls his and smiles a moment. 

“Didn’t you ever wonder why my speech patterns started mixing with yours? It was not intentional...at first.”

“I mean...Yeah.”

“Well… a demon is a human soul tempered in fire. You are untouched, full of strength you can’t tap into, I am the opposite.” He regards the empty bar for a moment before returning his gaze to me, completely assured of his victory. “The same thing always happens when you put something strong next to something weak.” I swallow, and sip my drink before answering, scared for my life. I had died for a second, my vessel was technically his. Maybe more. 

“The weak one dies?” Crowley shakes his head at my guess. 

“No. The weak get used up, devoured, and thrown to the side.” I blink. Not completely sure where he was going, and not wanting to delve into those thoughts myself. Too tired and sore to postulate, I just take another sip. Crowley sets his drink down. “How can I put this the best way... for you...Ah.” He leans forward and puts his hands on the table in front of him. 

“I was having you, for lunch.” I blink, terrified and confused, a now regular state of mine. 

“But the contract.”

“Is in regards to torture, and the line, after you are dead. Nothing else.” Fuck. Balls. Cunt.

I shoot my drink. I breathe. It doesn’t help. I am gonna die in the one way I hadn’t anticipated from him. 

Full Cthulhu. 

He interrupts my panic with complete calm. 

“So we have a momentous occasion today Chew Toy.” I shiver. I do not like the sound of ‘lunch with Crowley’. I don’t like the sound of ‘momentous occasion’ either. I am gonna fucking die.

“We fought the angels and got your body?”

“No. That’s a common every other Tuesday type of thing. No today,” he snaps his fingers and my glass fills up with something amber. “Today I let you drink With me.” 


	13. The Gratitude in Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an accident a few years down the line.

Everything hurts. I am on fire. My eyes ache with dryness and it hurts to breathe. I had to be in Hell. I had finally broken the contract somehow and Crowley had dragged me down, and was putting me on the rack for a bit for his own amusement. I open my eyes, crusted with blood, waiting to see Crowley’s face... And see something far worse. 

Blue sky. 

I am still on earth. That means that whatever is happening, isn’t just happening to me. 

I shake my head, trying to focus, and hear moans, the crackling of fire. The asphalt is warm and the creaking of nearby metal makes my soul ache for some reason, and I remember. 

Driving home from dinner. Stop light on the fritz, five car pile up. No one's fault but a lot of people hurt. Like my husband. I turn myself over and push myself up with my arms, slowly looking around as the ringing in my ears quiets and my vision swims less. My car is upside down, my husband is still inside. 

I pull myself along, and see the fire reflecting off bits of broken safety glass like tiny stars that make the situation sickly beautiful. As I pull myself my entire left side aches. I have at least one broken rib, and I can tell it’s pushing into something it shouldn’t. 

It doesn’t really matter. Not for me. But him... Propped upside down by his head on the roof of the car, I slowly reach out to feel his neck. 

It is there, but slow, and faint. The pulse. I look at him, with that gash in his neck there won’t be a pulse for long. I look around frantically. There are at least two cars in the way of any ambulance, and there is oil on the ground. Anything could catch fire at any second. No sound of sirens. I frantically search my pockets and sigh in relief. My phone. I was always lucky when it came to my phone. I always found it when it was lost. It never broke, even if I threw it against a wall. And it usually had enough battery when I needed it badly. 

I needed it badly. 

I take it out and look at the screen, it is working. I dial 911. 

“911. What’s your emergency?”

“Big car crash. Oak and Vine.”

“We already have people on the way miss, as fast as we can. Can you tell me, are you or is anyone near you in critical condi-“ I hang up. And dial another number. 




“Hello Chew Toy. How can I -“

“Help. Give you anything.” I manage to croak out. 

“Now this, I must see.” The line goes dead and Crowley is suddenly beside me. He looks around, taking everything in, then looks down at me. “Dying are we? And I only revived you what, a year or two ago?”

“No clue if I’m dying Crowley. But he is.” I hold my husband by the neck, still feeling for his pulse that grows ever fainter as I’m stained with his blood. Crowley walks over slowly and looks down. 

“Ah. I suppose you want me to save him?”

“Please. I’ll give you anything.”

“Well, even if I could heal him, which I can’t without making a deal, why should I? I already own you.” He has a point. I can’t exactly give him anything he doesn’t already have. 

“Please, I’d be eternally grateful.” At this he looks interested, and for some reason that terrifies me, but not enough to stop. “I’ll... I’ll trade places with him in the car. I-“

“I can’t do that either, it’d violate Duty of Care on my part.”

“Exactly! But I Asked you to, and if I don’t try to get out we have both violated Duty of Care! If I remember correctly, if we are equally in fault neither of the violation clauses activate! Please!” He stares at me. 

“How do you remember that?”

“Really!? Now!? I chewed some fucking knowing gum Crowley!! Help me!”

“Been doing some research I see. But, Yes. Now.” I take a deep breath and talk as quickly as I can. 

“I wrote down what bits and pieces I could remember of the contract after you left the next day.”

“And I didn’t know about that how?”

“Because I try to think about that as little as possible! Those two pages of crappy notes are listed under plot points for a story on demonology. It’s on my computer, in a zipped file, twelve folders deep. After we parted recently I went through the notes, looking for my own loopholes, ways to prolong my life, make sure I didn’t fuck up further. I combed the notes for stuff that seemed to stand out. That was the only clause where if we were both in violation of the contract nothing happened. It seemed weird, so I memorized it. Please Crowley, switch our places, move the cars, make it so he can be reached faster.” It’s now that I can finally hear faint sirens. I look at Crowley. He’s standing still, regarding me. 

“One condition.”

“Anything. Just do it.” He smiles. 

“I love it when they say that.” And he snaps his fingers. 

I’m in the car, my husband is not. I look around, outside the window, he isn’t there either.

“Crowley, where is he!?”

“Out front, they'll get to him faster, and I’ll have time to watch this.” The car creaks around me, as does the one next to me. A faint hiss and there is an explosion, so close by that suddenly I can’t hear and my ears scream in pain. Then...nothing. I can feel myself begin to float, leave my body to wait for a reaper, or a Hellhound. There is light, the crackling of flames, then a snap, and my eyes open. I breathe deeply and everything hurts. 

“Lovely doing business with you Chew Toy.” The voice is close by, and I see familiar shoes outside the window for a moment before they vanish. Before I pass out. 

When I awake I’m in a hospital bed, hooked up to a lot of bags, husband passed out with bandages from the side of his neck to his shoulder, and a very large bag of blood for transfusions. But he is here. Which meant he hadn’t died. 

Unlike me. 

For some reason Crowley had wanted me to die there. I knew it had something to do with the contract… just not what. 


	14. The Amendment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a contract is gone over... again.

It is three years later that I have a problem. A very big problem. A problem that doesn’t involve Crowley...directly.

I had had my concerns before then. He had stopped drawing blood about half a year ago. I hadn’t seen him in two years. Not even to torment me. So I was curious. Terrified really. Waiting for a shoe to drop.

So when I open my front door to find a woman in a suit, a nice suit, who reaches out to touch me; I panic and back up. Then everything happens at once.

The angel touches my head to try to read me and recoils.

I feel pain as a bullet hits my brain.

I see black smoke in the distance. 

I die.

Again.

I fly for hours until I flit between a now and a here and a then, concepts that shouldn’t be places or things that I can see, but can. I flit around, pulled by something, until a man in a black suit finds me. He stares at me as I fly by and gives chase. He gets closer and reaches out to touch me. 

“How are you out of your body? Shouldn’t you be waiting for your reaper?” He almost touches me when I’m suddenly grabbed by something else and pulled along. Scenes flash by until they blur into green, then black, then red. Whatever is carrying me slows down and pads through dark halls filled with screams. 

Hell. 

Hellhound. 

I’m brought through a door and see Crowley sitting behind a desk, writing something. I immediately feel a pull toward him, towards the missing piece of my soul. The Hellhound growls and holds on. At the sound Crowley looks up, and sighs.

“Everyone out. I need to deal with this one personally.” I can sense shuffling behind me and the doors close. Crowley stands up and looks at me.

“Good girl, drop it.” I fall to the ground by his feet, the spit from the Hellhound somehow anchoring me, weighing me down, slimily. Crowley picks me up and regards me. “What trouble have you gotten into now Chew Toy? If it’s your fault...well.” He turns me around and looks at me, and chuckles.

“You know, I missed you, I really did. I wonder if I should wait to find out from my demons what happened, or find out from you?” I finally see something on his face that concerns me. The slightest strain. It happens for just a second, and his face remains cool and calculated as if it didn’t. “I was just thinking the other day ‘Crowley, you’ve been working so hard, you deserve a little break.’ Now you’re here, and I don’t believe in coincidences.” I feel cold fear encompass me as he tosses me in the air. I can’t do anything but fall, feeling that terrifying pull towards the missing piece of my soul as I’m weighed down by disgusting Hellhound saliva. Red smoke rushes out and grabs me, and I’m pulled down to my deadly prison. Crowley sits for a moment, running something around in his mouth as I cower, tremble, sure that I’m about to die, again, slowly. I’m sure that he’s tasting me.

Instead he spits a glop of clear wet stuff on the ground and glares at the Hellhound.

“More teeth, less tongue next time. Now shoo. Daddy’s got some soul searching to do.” The Hellhound leaves and I panic, scream in fear, as I’m once again imprisoned in red. 

“Oh, we haven’t reached that point of the night yet. We need to get reacquainted first.”

There is a knock at the door. Crowley pauses his internal examination of me and sighs, gently allowing me to just willingly exude new information instead of tearing it out.

“Come.” The door opens and I walk in. Or my body does. Crowley blinks, then nods. “Angels?”

“Yessir.” Crowley regards the demon and then smiles slightly. 

“Good job Bartholomew. What do you know about this body now?”

“Uhm…”

“I thought so.” Crowley snaps and a corpse appears. Exsanguinated, shirtless, lying on its back and dead eyed, but usable. “Here’s your new meatsuit. Leave that one and wait in the antechamber for your debriefing.”

“Yessir.” 

“If I find out you have gone anywhere else, talked to anyone else, before talking with me...do I need to say more?”

“No sir.”

“Good… …. Well Go!” The demon quickly ejects himself from my body and enters the other. The corpse shakes and sits up. As soon as it stands Crowley and I are behind the demon with an angel blade, plunging it into its chest from the back. It screams, lighting up with that internal lightning, and falls, smoldering. Crowley frowns. 

“What a waste.” He drops the blade and goes over to look at my body. “Mostly dead, but salvageable.” Heh, like Princess Bride. “What?” He shakes his head as he explores my soul for memories and then snorts. “Yes, like that. And it will be just as hard to return you.” Why? It’s in the contract. You can do what you want to fix up my meat suit. Why should it be hard?

“Because it will give me a break from the documents I’m being incessantly handed and it’s so much more fun, using mummy’s old spell book directly against her wishes.” Huh, so Rowena was real. 

He works for a day; magic, runes, mixtures. I watch it, but don’t understand a thing. Finally, with my body covered in a black ichor and encircled in runes, Crowley is satisfied. He nods, and speaks a language I don’t recognize .

“Sanar aquest cosifer-lo sencer.” The body sits up. “Recitea.” We are flying, he is flying, I am along for the ride. We rush into the reanimated body and like a rock in a sling he deposits me there, returning to his own meat suit before it even hits the floor. A completely unnecessary show of power that was terrifying, probably the point. 

I breathe in. He stands, and I watch him from the floor, naked and covered in goo. He chuckles a derisive laugh but frowns, and says words I never thought I would hear in a million years.

“We need to amend our contract.” I blink. 

“What?”

“I want to make an addendum to our contract. Not an extension, but an addendum. One of the very few to ever be made to a demon contract.” I sigh. This couldn’t be good. 

“What is it?”

“I want you to lose the ability to be healed, by anyone other than me.” I blink. 

“What? Why?”

“I have reasons, don’t you trust me?”

“Fuck no.”

“I’m wounded. Can you see the tears in my eyes?” I frown, pursing my lips, swallowing, trying to get some of the gunk, and the taste of demon, out of my mouth.

“And what do I get in return?”

“Why should you get anything?”

“Because that’s how deals work.”

“It’s for your own safety.”

“Really?” He smiles at my question. A slight nod, one barely acknowledging the fact that I was anything other than a tool, or a high… or a Chew Toy. 

“Really.” I sigh at his answer. He has a very easy way out of this contract. Probably many. I stop. And smile. 

I know what I want, perhaps he might give it to me. 

“I want two things.”

“Bold of you to assume I care.” I roll my eyes. He may not care, but he is curious. Any information I gave him could be used against me.

“I want to know why you haven’t let me die, and I want to know how much of the goddamn show is true.” He looks at me, then swallows and shakes his head. A wave of his hand and a familiar contract appears. Marked in red, with two signatures at the bottom. A new section appears below them and a place for two more signatures. 

“Fine. Sign, and then woo me?” I sigh and look over the addendum and smile, seeing a very obvious problem. 

“Crowley.”

“Yes Chew Toy?”

“Do you take me for an idiot?” 

“I mean…if not you’re fairly close. To have made a deal with a demon...” I ignore the jab, meant to raise hackles, it may work on the Hardy Boys, but I’m too used to verbal abuse.

“I’ve spent years with you, I’ve read and written books with characters that fit you to a t. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that it doesn’t stipulate that what you tell me has to be the truth?” He huffs a slight laugh. 

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” With a wave the words change. I reread them and nod. 

“Add no lies of omission, and that you have to actually answer the questions within an hour or so of when I ask, and I’m good.” At this he frowns a bit but the words appear. “Pen please.” It appears in my hand and I sign. His signature appears just as it had years ago. The contract vanishes and I sigh. He waves a hand and the goop is gone, and I’m stark naked. I can feel him right behind me. Waiting for the kiss that I am not even sure is necessary. Probably just wanted to make me uncomfortable. I am far too tired to be.

Or so I thought.

“Look, I know that as soon as I turn around you’ll be inches away, with“ I’m spun in place and bent over backward on his arm, held in a dancer's pose as he kisses me. I open my mouth in surprise and feel a tug, and once again, I lose a piece of myself. He pulls me up and casts me away, into a wall. My back hits and I shake my head, dazed and turned around. I’m dizzy from the impact, and losing another piece of my fucking soul. 

“Delicious. As always. Now.” There is a snap and my skull aches. I fall to the floor, the pressure immense. “There you go, protection from those pesky doll faced pigeons.” I glare at him. The first contract didn’t hurt, and I was a little pissed at being accosted. 

“I thought I had to initiate the kiss. Give it up freely.” He waves a hand and I’m pulled up from the floor. 

“Darling, you’re already my whore. I can kiss you whenever I want.” I mean, he is right. I already have a contract with him. This was an addendum...different rules. “Now, shall we go on that lovely honeymoon and do it the way it should have happened all those years ago?”

“You mean with me bleeding out and you tripping balls, covered in blood?”

“So crass. No. I mean with proper Bloody Marys, from Hell.”

“Lemme guess, with real blood.”

“How did you know?” He says with a blank face. I sigh. 

“Fine, but I’d like you to answer my first question before we jump off into lala land.”

“You mean why I didn’t let you die?”

“Uh, yeah.” He stands, moves from his place leaning on a nearby chair and circles me. I try to turn to watch him, but can’t. I can’t move at all. I hear his steps and cringe. Something is coming. 

Suddenly his hand sits on my shoulder. 

“Why? Because I genuinely enjoy your company.” I tense. No. That couldn’t be the truth, the whole truth. I wait. He delivers, and I regret it. “Watching you struggle with what you’ve done, better than most of my shows. The way I feel-“ his hands close hard on my shoulders and he whispers next to my ear. “when I’m inside you.” I cringe, closing my eyes, it is all innuendo, but I can’t, I can’t just... His hands leave and now I have no clue where he is, whether the next thing I will feel is pain, or something that could possibly be worse. I believe that such things are too crude for him, but I… I am too scared and anxious to discount anything. He knows it, he revels in it. 

I close my eyes tighter and swallow, knowing if I move, even though I can’t, I’m fucked in a hundred ways. “The emotions you give me when I make you dance? Darling. You are the best Chew Toy a bitch from Hell could ask for. You being alive? Each experience you have, only adds more flavor for when-” I twitch as he touches my face, suddenly in front of me. “You come home.” His hand leaves me abruptly and I can suddenly breathe. “And you make a passable cocktail.” I inhale, and I can move. There is a sound and I am clean and clothed again. I take yet another shaky breath, looking at the demon who had literally brought me to Hell. Who was far worse than my worst nightmares. Far worse than I thought when we met. And Far FAR worse than the show I enjoyed could ever be... unless it got a remake on HBO. A random thought, but true.

He stands, observing my complete and utter breakdown, then nods. 

“So go up, and experience some things for me darling. We have eternity for that honeymoon.” He snaps his fingers, and I’m home. 

And two years later I find out how right he was to make that addendum.


	15. The Angelic Suicide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a cruel choice, and a crueler punishment.
> 
> Warning, suicide.

I don’t know how they did it, but I wake up hanging from chains cuffed to my arms. I look at the warehouse; it’s always a warehouse or an empty building. It’s one of the things Crowley hates about angels, no sense of the drama a change in scenery could cause. The angels look at me, then at each other. I can tell they are angels, they are all in suits. They also exude energy and nervous tenseness born of waiting for orders. 

“Seriously, guys. Don’t try it. It won’t work. I’m not gonna give you permission.”

“You may change your mind.” Says one walking into the room.

“Castiel?”

“It is a name I go by now.” He stands in front of me, emotionless. Then he sighs, and sadness fills his face. “I don’t want to do this, but I will inflict pain upon you if that’s what it takes to find out what is going on.” I look at him and swallow. I have to think fast. 

“I can’t tell you the things he’ll do to me, if I tell…” I look at him. “And if I do tell, if you do manage to...do whatever to make him not immortal, he will just find someone else and do what he’s done to me, to them. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, and then he’ll still be immortal.” I swallow. I had been with Crowley too long. I didn’t know whose side I was on anymore. Who I was ‘rooting for.’ I was terrified of him, proud, scared. Mostly scared. I look at the angels again. “I don’t even know if what I could tell you to do would work! And if it doesn’t...you will hear my screams in heaven.” The angels seem unmoved. “If you torture me, if you kill me, you know what will happen. I'll just come back… I always come back, even if it hurts, I come back.” Castiel sighs.

“You will not die. We will heal you.” He picks up a blade from a nearby silver table and walks towards me. I gulp, but I was where I needed to be in the conversation now.

“You can’t.” At this he stops.

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t heal me, no angel can heal me.” Castiel stares then shakes his head.

“I don’t believe you.” He continues walking forward. He is going to torture me, either until I spill something, or allow one of them in... And if I tell them anything...It wouldn’t matter if I voided my contract. Crowley wouldn’t care about that, he’d care that the angels knew something, and I’d pay dearly. He wouldn’t just torture me...no. 

No, he’d swallow me alive and drown me slowly in a miasma of red pain until I ceased to exist as a person. Until I was just a single emotional note for him to get high off of until he decided to fucking devour me. I breathe, trying to stop the impending panic attack. Neither of us know what happens after that, after he dissolves my soul, and I don’t want to be the first to find out. I breathe. Panicking. Eyes going back and forth trying to think, and I do. And a worse thought comes to me.

Crowley wouldn’t dissolve my soul, he wouldn’t drive me insane, because that meant my punishment might end. Because he agreed with me. 

True death was a mercy. True death was something you gave to people who got in the way. True death was what happened when you annoyed him, when you were insignificant. 

He had put too much work into me for me to be insignificant. I don’t know why he had put such work into me, it doesn’t matter. Whatever he does to me is his prerogative now, and if I don’t play this situation right...I swallow, close my eyes, and wait.

There is a small cut, painful but not torturous, on my cheek. I open my eyes. The angel is holding out his hand over a small incision, white light building. I shake my head.

“Not gonna work.” Castiel stares, confused, and then blinks and looks at me more closely.

“Why are you so special? Do you have a contract with him?” I remain silent. “You can’t have, you are not ...marked for Hell.” I blink. Of course. Of course I’m not marked, or missing my soul or whatever happens when a normal deal is made. Crowley didn’t outright own my soul, not always, not completely; he had part of it. He had complete and total ownership of the percent he wanted, a percent that wasn’t here. 

I swallow my fear and look at Castiel. This is information I could use. They didn’t know I had a contract. Something about the way mine was written meant it didn’t show… I look around the room; sigils everywhere. I probably can’t call for help, and even if I could they couldn't get in. I was alone, with one recourse. The worst one. 

“Look, I don’t know. I don’t know why he likes using and abusing me so much when he has others he could do the same to.” It is true, I don’t. “All I know is I know Something, something that if I tell you...will be bad for me.”

“We can protect you.” I look at Castiel, at the others behind him, and laugh.

“Really? REALLY? You think I believe you! You can’t protect yourselves!”

“If you let one of us in, we can protect you.” I sigh. That is true. There is nothing in my contract saying I couldn’t do that. If I did, would they know everything about me? But, I have a feeling. I look at him, Misha, the actual man was probably pushed down to the wayside, and I have an idea. It’s what I do after all. Have ideas. Even if they are ones that will bite me in the ass later, they always seem good at the start. 

“Would you know everything about me?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll do everything in your power to help me, no matter the cost?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Let’s try it, but I have to tell you now; if Crowley catches you, in me, whoever is possessing me will die, and you will have damned me. Also” I look at Castiel, “It has to be you.”

“Why?” 

“Because I know you. I’m not letting a stranger in my body.”

“Fine.”

I had thought it through. If I did this, one of three things would happen. One. They would save me, whatever positives and negatives that entailed could be looked at later. Two. They would fail and I would be tortured, which is happening anyway. It just might be a bit worse for fifty years. And three... I know Crowley...and I had a feeling. The angels should be able to just...zap and read me, but couldn’t, I just have a feeling. I close my eyes as a light flashes out from Misha. I hear him breathing hard as the light slams against me.

“Why? Why did you let him in Misha?”

“He said he could ...protect my family from Crowley.” The light hits my head, blinds me through my eyelids.

“Please. I can do that better. Give me a month, you’ll get a letter, an unofficial, no soul, contract. And if you like it, push him out.” The light still hits me, my head, my body, everywhere...but in me. It vanishes and I open my eyes just in time to see Castiel return to his vessel. He glares at me.

That’s when I knew my suspicions were right. Sometime, during one of the sessions with Crowley in Hell, he had had runes engraved on my bones. Or maybe stomach, something. Either way, they couldn’t read me, they couldn’t possess me. I was right, I have one recourse. I shake my head and sigh, looking knowingly at Cas.

“Yeah, that's what I thought would happen.” Cas stares. “He’s ten steps ahead of you guys. C’mon. Please.” He sighs.

“Why would you say those things? Turn my vessel against me?” I chuckle.

“Because I’m fucked. I know I’m fucked. I’m ETERNALLY FUCKED. But him...” I nod my head towards Misha. “He’s got a chance if you leave him alone. I can at least try to help. Worst case, Crowley doesn’t agree and I…” I was about to say tortured, or cease to exist...but that might terminate the contract if I tell Castiel that… I was pretty sure I got all the clauses relating to the termination on my side, but I couldn’t be sure. If I didn’t and Crowley fucked up by some miracle and terminated the contract in my benefit... It would mean that even if I was in heaven he could just call me back. After all, I’d been in hell, but my soul wasn’t condemned to be there, not like the others. I’m not earmarked. I belong to Crowley first, Hell second. I take a deep breath. 

I had asked to look at the contract again, a...year or so ago. Crowley had let me, it wasn’t like I could change it without his signature, or do anything about it. More importantly he knew that I had learned enough being around him that I thought I might understand the contract better.

I did.

It was not good. 

So many loopholes, and I knew I didn’t even see half of them. I take another deep breath and look at Cas who has been waiting for me to speak, knowing I’m rather ...scared shitless.

“I mean he’s got a family man! He spent his use sneaking up on Crowley, that ship sailed! Leave him!” 

Castiel stares, and sighs. Then he says something unexpected.

“Strip her.”

“What?”

“We are looking for anti-possession-.”

“Yeah, no. He’s not stupid enough to put one where you could get at it without killing me. I guarantee it’s on my ribs or something.” He looks at me, at the other angels, and sighs. 

“We will be back. We must deliberate.” They leave, apparently to deliberate and argue about using torture on a human; one with a soul, who had no contract and was just being used… One that couldn’t be healed once they did damage. I listen as they deliberate on their next action. They could torture me, that was it. And if I didn’t break... If I died I’d go right to Crowley. There were lots of points to discuss, and I let them, gearing myself up for something … terrible. They shouldn’t have left me alone. I take a breath, preparing for one of the most horrible things I could do to myself. I exhale, and hoist myself up the chains they had me hanging from, as far as I can, wrap them around my neck…and let go. 

If I wasn’t damned before, I certainly am now.

My soul floats, and immediately heads out a window to be grabbed by a Hellhound waiting outside. I’m back to the familiar room within fifteen minutes. There is no smile on Crowley’s face. The room is empty already. 

“Drop it, and leave.” The hound does so and scurries out quickly. 

I’m alone with him. He looks at me, the floating ball of light, darting back and forth, frantic to reach the rest of it, but not able to. “So, let’s find out what you told them, and what punishment I’m going to enjoy Putting You Through!” He glares, he doubts me, he doubts that I know I’m damned, doubts that I fear him enough. He opens his mouth and rips out of his meat suit, roaring towards me, grabbing and encircling me in red and pulling me into his smoke.

He rushes back to his body with rage, maybe fear, and pushes us back in so fast the body shakes. He sits up, breathing heavily in rage, and examines me with a fine tooth comb.

And he smiles. 

It takes two months to recover my body. But...Those two months waiting...Crowley took a vacation, only delegating what to do when demons came to ask questions. One of those things he delegated was indeed sending a contract to Misha, signed by himself, saying he would leave his family alone, guaranteed, for life. He was tickled pink that I had made a deal like that, angry that I said I could get something from him, but very happy I had possibly pushed an Angel out of their vessel. Castiel no less. I don’t know if it worked, but it was worth a shot. After that though… We were mostly left alone.

He spent most of that first month riding a high from my resulting panic attacks and PTSD episodes. That did die down eventually, and when it did...we returned to his office and he subjected me to the most horrifying torture I had ever experienced up until then.

It was punishment for almost allowing an angel to possess me, for assuming to make a contract for him, for getting caught, for his own pleasure. Pain...the idea never even came up. What he did was far worse than pain could ever be.

He sat down at his desk, got out a pen, and began to write. He wrote down things he could subject me to. Happy things. Sad things. Terrifying. Gross. Every emotion he wanted to feel. He made lists, upon lists, upon lists.

Lists for quick hits, lists for long highs. Lists for once I was dead, lists for when I was alive. Lists for when I was in his body, lists when we were in another’s, lists for when we were in mine.

He asked me questions. Whether I’d rather be boiled or shredded. Whether I’d prefer to watch a child eaten by a Hellhound or swim in a black ocean not knowing which way was up. Whether I’d like to go enjoy the smell of cherry blossoms in Japan or the view of the salt sea. Whether I’d rather kill my mother or my father. Whether I preferred comedies or comedians.

He prodded and poked at my memories. Drug up all my fears and hopes over and over to examine them. He played therapist from the view of a psychiatrist who got high on their patient.

After three days of lists he spent the rest of the month riding a high from my anxiety and fear of the future. He didn’t get to feel that fear, that anticipation, often anymore. I didn’t know if he intended to actually do anything on those lists; what was scary was what they meant. Whenever he needed a break, he either pushed me down or put me through so much pain I couldn’t think of anything else. He obviously preferred the second way of dealing with my emotions.

I got black out drunk as soon as I returned to my body. Because there was no doubt now, not ever again.

I am his Chew Toy. 


	16. The Unyielding Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which questions are answered, and lead to more questions.

He comes to me again, about two or three weeks after the incident, but...I can’t figure out why he’s here. He had come to my house, knocked on my door, and invited me out, at 7 pm. He wanted to walk into town, no danger of people knowing who he was here, Catholic town, few geeks, ...also the town was closed on Monday evenings.

I twitch as he stands there, remembering the mental loops he had me jump through, and that I would jump through again. 

“How are the cats? The black one that rubbed on my new pants?”

“Dead Crowley, she was old.”

“Good, I hate cats.” 

“Is that why you never came to my house? Because of the cats?”

“No, I never come to your house because I spent Two Bloody Months There. I don’t need to see any more of that pit.” I shake my head, right, those two months pretending to be me.

“So why do you hate cats? Are you a dog person?”

“No, I’m a Hellhound demon.” He looks to his left and smiles slightly. “She’s a good girl.” I ignore the comment and look at him. 

“Why are you here Crowley?” He waves his hand and pulls me out the door, closing and locking it behind me. Great. It’s either go with him, or call a locksmith...or my husband who I never want to meet Crowley. 

“What? I can’t visit my home away from home without ulterior motives?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint then. I’m utterly benign tonight.”

“Like a tumor?” We walk onto the main street finally, all the stores closed, the hub of the town quiet. 

“Careful darling, or I might turn malignant.” I am hungry, I was about to cook dinner when he came, it looked like it would be late tonight. I sigh, following him in silence for a moment, trying to figure out what he is up to. I still have no better idea of what that is when he stops at the ice cream parlor and grabs the door of the darkened store.

“Uh, it’s Monday...everything’s closed.”

“Nothing’s closed unless I say it is.” He pulls on the door and it opens, I blink, and look at the dark restaurant, the only light the flickering of the ice cream coolers. “Coming?” He’s holding the door open for me...waiting. I hurry inside, my guts clenched in my confused state. This is not the demon I know, these...niceties.This is wrong. Something horrible is going to happen, I know it, he is just playing with me, trying to get me to-

“Relax.” I nearly jump a foot at the word as it echoes off the walls. 

“Crowley, what the Hell?”

“Pardon?”

“Why the fuck am I here?”

“Because I want you to be.” I take a deep breath as he leads me toward the back of the store, toward the ice cream display.

“Ok, why do you want to be here? Want me to be here?”

“Many reasons, but you have more important things to ask.” He stands, looking at the flavors. “Really, lemon basil? What happened to chocolate chip? To vanilla or moose tracks?” I shake my head, trying to orient myself in this bizarre situation.

“I... what?”

“I loved chocolate chip, it was a very good flavor, and then all these new age variants started taking over. Horrific, if I ever find out who started this fad I’ll put them on the rack myself.”

“I...I.. What? And the lemon basil is amazing, so is the cookie butter one.”

“Of course you would like them. Pitiful.”

“Because I like interesting flavors, I’m...pitiful?”

“No, you’re pitiful because you’re allowing yourself to be distracted.” Crowley smiles, amused at my ineptitude. I’m tired, it’s 7, I haven’t even eaten dinner yet.

“Crowley, I’m near 50, I can’t do icecream for dinner or that shit any more. Why are we here?”

“Well booey for you, I already ate.” I blink. Crowley didn’t need to eat. My soul isn’t exactly with him to be devoured so... I shake my head, I’m still confused and jarred by his...benign behavior. I’m probably thinking too much into this. Crowley however is ignoring me and looking through the back of the ice cream display. “What to try, what to try… you really recommend the lemon basil?” I look at him incredulously.

“What the Hell is going on?”

“I am. Now, lemon basil?”

“I mean… I guess. Yeah you’d probably like it considering your taste in drinks. It’d probably go well with-”

“Blood?” He raises a brow and smiles, snapping a serving into the cone he’s holding. Seriously, what the fucking Hell is going on?

“No… No. Crowley, everyone knows blood goes with chocolate. Hell blood Makes good chocolate, why would you even…” Crowley pauses and looks at me. “Crowley, pig’s blood, sanguinaccio dolce, you’ve been in my head. Nothing new.” He sighs.

“How disappointing, for a second there you were almost interesting.” It’s at this point I notice the very dim flickering light in the back of the store in the employees only area, and the slightly red tinted window. Crowley smirks as he notices my gaze.

“Like I said, I rarely eat, but when I do, I prefer my food fresh.” I freeze, an appropriate reaction in an ice cream parlor, but not really for a fun reason. 

“What….no. It’s not your style.” He’s amused, finds it incredibly ignorant of me that I think I might know him, that I know I don’t actually Do know him enough to be Sure that what he was saying is a lie...but.

“Only one way to find out.” He says, as he walks from behind the counter, cone in hand, and begins to head out the door. I look between him, the back door, and back to him. I believe I’d rather have peace in ignorance than torment in answers, so I quickly follow. “Wise choice, you’d have gotten blood on your...everything.” He says as he holds the door open, I swallow and hurry through, still having no clue as to what’s going on. “So is that your answer tonight? Ignorance is bliss? How unlike you Chew Toy, there was a time when you wanted to know everything.” I blink. Oh. Right. The addendum.

Crowley sees my face, and nods, taking a single bite from the cone, I shudder. That had to be cold. If that didn’t show he wasn’t human, besides all the killing and evil, I don’t know what did. Eating ice cream like that isn’t natural. 

“I knew you’d figure it out eventually, even if I believe I saw a few hundred braincells sacrifice themselves to create that thought.” I sigh, at least I know why he is here, kinda...sorta. We walk in silence, the only sound is that of footsteps and Crowley biting straight into cold ice cream like a masochistic maniac. Was...all this bravado and weirdness to put me off guard? Make it hard for me to understand what he tells me? Make me forget to ask the questions I wanted to know? The silence stretches, and I remember I actually have to initiate this.

“So, tell me about the level of truth in Supernatural. Sam and Dean... real?”

“Well, first off let’s say that any events that even resembled the show happened in the 1900’s.” I pause.

“Early...or late?” 

“Late.” I roll my eyes, of course.

“So are Sam and Dean real?”

“They were, as was my mother, and many of the angels, and the very interesting Robert Singer.” 

“Were?”

“Darling? Do you think I’d be here if they were still around? No, most of them died of old age near the time of your parent’s birth.” We walk by a trashcan and Crowley throws the half eaten cone into it without looking.

“Old age huh? Just old age?”

“Sure, if you call attempting to fight a witch at the age of 60 death by old age.” I blink.

“Your...mother?”

“She was the Queen for a bit. The hardy boys tried to go up against her, at the ripe old age of 60.”

“Why were they fighting her? Where were you at the time?”

“I honestly don’t remember the real reason they were fighting. I was in the Bahamas, waiting for one of them to kill the other.”

“....So...What happened?” Crowley looks at me briefly and shakes his head as he leads me around a corner toward the old housing circle…

“I believe...Rowena killed Dean, Sam killed Rowena...I killed Sam… Or was it Rowena killed Sam, Dean killed Rowena...and I killed Dean? Maybe… Rowena killed Sam, Dean tried to kill Rowena...and then I killed them both? I honestly can’t remember, I was in a bit of a haze at the time.” I blink.

“You...were high...when you did this? And you talk about Sam and Dean being stupid attacking a witch at 60?”

“Darling, you’ve got to take risks if you want to come out on top. Risks like drinking virgin blood, marinated in the ark of the covenant, aged for 53 days, and then served in the holy grail.”

“Wait what?! Really?!”

“No! It was a very old spell… from Aliester Crowley’s spellbook, one of the very few warlocks.” I blink.

“He’s down there?”

“Of course he’s down there! He was a warlock! He consorted with demons on a regular basis.”

“Like you?”

“I wasn’t the first to make a deal with him if you mean. Aliester was actually a capable warlock... and adept at wriggling out of contracts.”

“So you didn’t get him?”

“I said he’s Down there didn’t I? I’m here, pouring my smoke out to you, and you don’t have the decency to listen! If I actually cared about your thoughts I’d be insulted!” I roll my eyes and go to turn left back toward my house, but am pulled further left by an invisible force. I sigh, it looks like I am going to have to choose between being able to ask questions and having dinner at a reasonable time tonight. 

We walk in silence, toward some unnamed goal, footsteps still clicking on the sidewalk.

“You know, I liked that ice cream parlor.”

“I quite enjoyed it as well.”

“Then why did you kill the workers there?”

“I just said I enjoyed it, what do you think that meant?” I sigh again. “Besides, the workers are fine.” I blink. Then who was in the back?

“Random passersby?”

“I don’t kill and tell. Now, if you’re done asking inane questions about the rationality of a fictional show you have long since known the purpose of?”

“Not even close, but now that you mention it...why did you make it so close to the truth? Also I trust you’ll clean up the mess at the ice cream parlor? Get rid of evidence?”

“I’m a professional darling. And as for making it close to the truth...I didn’t... I saw the show had gained a following and ended up inserting myself in it. It had already been using some accurate depictions of happenings, I believe someone found Sam’s journal.”

“Sam had a journal?”

“Chew Toy, Sam was a nerd. He had twenty journals.”

“What...what was in it?”

“Nerdy stuff I suppose.”

“No, I mean… what was he writing about if he and his brother weren’t hunting monsters?”

“Why would you assume they weren’t?” I look at him, very confused.

“You said monster’s weren’t real.”

“Well, I wasn’t under contract at the time was I?” I sigh. Well, there go peaceful nights until I stock up on salt and silver.

“So monsters are real?”

“No.” I throw my hands in the air. 

“What the fuck Crowley, we have a contract!”

“Monsters Were real. Past tense darling.” I blink. We walk in silence as I wait for him to continue. He doesn’t.

“Oh my fucking god explain.”

“Most monsters are not real. Like I said, there are mainly two players in this game, humans and angels; but humans can become many many things. They all however, start out as humans.”

“Ok, explain. Just. Just keep explaining until I say stop please. Assume I know nothing John Snow.” Crowley coughs at my request and reference, but acquiesces.

“Witches, were at one point very powerful. They could make humans into whatever they wanted with a few words and a thought, minions, familiars, slugs. Of course anything anyone ever makes eventually escapes, and there came the first monsters. Or most of them. The oldest, they were the first beasts in the garden… then some really did just come from Lilith… Eve... Adam’s first wife. The cunt. However, she was still human, until she refused Adam and was smited...smote? Knocked off her pedestal after being raped by the first man. Or so the story goes. She was pissed, understandably, and that anger festered in her womb until it exploded 10 months later, painful pregnancy, worse labor. So that’s where your actual monsters come from. The rest are just witches’ shit.” 

“So… can witches still do that? Make monsters?”

“Darling, real witches could. My mother fancied herself powerful, but any witch or demon of today would piss themselves if they ran into the witches from biblical times. I know, there’s one in the pit. She told me lovely bedtime stories when I was a fledgling demon just turning red on the rack.”

“Wait...she’s been there that long and hasn’t turned into a demon?”

“Who do you think was the one torturing me? Now, she did, with a bit of persuasion, tell me how they made monsters, however today’s witches...They lost the book on how to do that sort of magic ages ago. They will never get it back.” I look at him, and get an inkling, a small feeling.

“You have it don’t you?”

“I find it makes a nice light read when I’m tired of Sylvia Plath’s journal.”

“She’s down there too?”

“You really think that depressive mess became popular without help?” 

“How’d you get the book?”

“I took it from her bedside table as my Hellhound grabbed her soul. Long term contract that one, got a lot of people depressed and easily manipulated though. Completely worth it.”

“No… I mean the witches book.”

“Well old Croney absolutely deplores today’s witches and their pathetic mewling about how they’d lost power. She’d had to make up the spells she used, witches today have no ability to actually create new magic, so why should they have the old magic? She happily told me where to find the book.”

“Why?”

“Because she couldn’t very well get it herself. She is a pit demon, I am a crossroads demon. I am allowed to leave.”

“You said you’d bring it to her, didn’t you.”

“For once, no. She just hates today’s witches that much. Poor old Croney.” I blink. Did the King of Hell just express….sympathy?

“What happened to her?”

“Hmm? Oh nothing, she just doesn’t get to torture witches as much any more. She was quite lucky to just get the son of a witch.”

“Is she torturing your mother?” At this Crowley laughs.

“Darling. Nobody tortures Rowena but me. Rowena is going through the worst torture possible at this very moment.”

“But you said-”

“She’s a narcissist. She’s a narcissistic witch. And she’s lonely. The worst thing you can do to a narcissist is... leave them alone. The worst thing you can do to a witch is give them nothing to work their magic on. The worst thing I could do to my mother was give her power, then leave her alone so she couldn’t impress anyone with it. She’s in her own little personal Hell.” 

“You...didn’t actually give her…”

“Personal….Hell. Nothing is real down there except pain.” I walk, in silence. In awe and terrified simultaneously at his intuitive genius. Amazed at his lackadaisical attitude towards these huge stories he is rattling off as if they are as interesting as the back of a shampoo bottle. I pause and then continue digging into the library of lore that is Crowley’s past. 

“So...monsters? The book? What did you want with these things?”

“Every single human turned into a monster, is one less soul in Hell and one more in Purgatory. They cost me business.”

“So...you did what?”

“Unmade many familiars. Turned them human. Dealt with most anything that could make a human into something that wasn’t a human anymore.” I blink. 

“So no more monsters anymore?”

“Of course there are, the hunters need to be occupied with something. But the ones that easily turn humans into other things though, those I greatly reduced the number of...There’s still a vampire in Europe, one of the big ones, but he has no plans to make more. He doesn’t like the competition and he’s on my payroll.”

“What?! Why?”

“Do you have any idea how many self righteous humans have made a deal with me to try and kill him?”

“Wait, so you break your contracts?”

“Never...almost never. I give them the tools, it’s on them if they fail...or don’t put in their contract that I’m not allowed to talk to a very old friend about a hunter showing up at… say 6:34 PM in three days time at his servants entrance.” I shake my head. 

“How is that different than a demon who isn’t related to the contract killing the signer early?”

“The vampire isn’t a demon. I just drop by on occasion to tell him that he should expect company. As long as he doesn’t mention I visited, it doesn’t shine a bad light on my business, and he likes the free food too much to risk my ire.” This is bizarre. A half step aside from the show. And more importantly a hop skip and a fall flat on your face jump from my contract. This no longer relates to the show at all, he doesn’t need to be telling me this...I wonder if I could push farther…

“So what about the souls?”

“Clear questions darling, get slightly less murky answers from yours truly.”

“In the show, things ate souls… right?”

“The show contradicts itself more times than I can count. Souls can’t be destroyed, souls are eaten, souls can fade, souls can be twisted. Blah blah blah. Darling, the point of the confusing lore is to be just that! Confusing! The less people understand the value of a soul the better.”

“So...what are souls?”

“Energy. Energy powered by the experiences and emotions the person had during life.”

“So a baby….?”

“Not actually worth much soul wise.”

“So… souls...they can be destroyed?”

“No, but just like the humans they come from they can be turned into anything.” I take a deep breath. Here came the million dollar question to start me off on the yellow brick road to answers...a very scary yellow brick road.

“So...how? How are you…dissolving me, turning me into...you?”

“I think the wording ….tenancy-in-common in relation to freeheld possession of property just might have something to do with it.” I blink.

“What?” Crowley sighs.

“You see in most deals, it’s either all, or nothing. We demons are greedy like that. Because we have joint ownership, and I get to already have parts of you, the clause never says anything about the tenancy-in-common being equal after your death.”

“...What?”

“My darling broken record...usually I just own souls. As objects, or tools, or power. They are things, toys, power, future demons. Material to be molded or done with as I wish. Before you, I never treated a soul as real estate, let alone real estate and property at the same time.”

“So… you made up that whole contract...on the fly?”

“C’mon, be impressed.” I was. I can’t not be. It was insane. I mean...he had done contracts for hundreds of years so I’m not surprised he’s good...but that fast? ...Perhaps he went to Hell for a bit to write it up, time moved faster there after all. I look at him, then at the railroads surrounded by trees we are walking beside, and wonder what the whole point of tonight is. He is being far too forthcoming...I guess I should take advantage of it, even if it will probably screw me over.

“So…you can just...pick a soul apart… because…”

“Because I own it, but share it, in any ratio I want.” 

“So...as long as a single spark of the soul is left…”

“Completely in line with the contract, and then once I own the soul completely I can get rid of that last pesky spark.”

“But what about creatures or angels who feed on souls? How do they do it, are they picking a soul apart?”

“How would I know? They...aren’t demons.” I mean, yeah. 

“And...you don’t want whole souls any more because?” I say, with a glimmer of hope that he might actually want whole souls still.

“Because they can be taken back! If anyone wanted to get all of your soul’s little parts from me right now, they’d need tweezers and a lot of time.” 

“So...you’re hoping it… hoping for what?”

“Ah-ah, that is a question interesting enough to warrant an in depth answer.” I look at him expectantly, we continue walking and he doesn’t even look at me.

“Well, so are you going to answer?”

“No.” 

I sigh. “So...what about after me? After you…” The thought is in my head, I’d turn into a pile of white sparks, floating, buffeted by wind...

“Now that...I am also under no obligation to tell you.”

“You weren’t under any obligation to tell me half the shit you just dumped on me!”

“Yes but it’s so much fun-”

“Watching me squirm I know.” He glares at me, my bad habit at finishing other people’s sentences got on his nerves especially, because he’d had to mimic it for two months. I’m sure it came naturally, but it didn’t mean he liked being stuck with my vernacular.

“Watching you think.” I look at him, curious. “Chew Toy, the expression of confusion on your face, better than most daytime television.”

“Most things are better than daytime TV.”

We walk once again in silence, the cyclical nature of discovery and astonishment wearing on my mind. I look to my left, the demon, the King of Fucking Hell, walking and talking as if we really are just discussing folk lore, fan fiction, or some other less terrifying thing than reality. 

“So...Chuck?”

“No.” I pause. Crowley doesn’t often answer questions like that, Mark Sheppard does...something is off.

“No what?”

“No. I won’t discuss that so called story arc with you.”

“You...kinda have to?” Crowley smirks.

“Inso much as the answer does not endanger the party of the first part.” Well that took out half the big questions I wanted to ask, but I could try. 

“Wait...so Chuck is…”

“Darling. I said all the big players are gone.”

“Yeah...When you weren’t bound by contract.” Crowley smirks, I am finally catching on, and he isn’t going to answer anymore questions in that direction. That meant Chuck, Amara, The Nothing, probably Jack, all off limits. 

“Yes well, there’s always been a very big problem with truth. My favorite problem.”

“What?”

“Everyone has their own.” That felt like a final line so I quickly jump in before he can be dramatic.

“Don’t! Don’t you dare leave yet.”

“You’re give Me orders now?” 

“This is literally the only chance I will ever have to do so, because I have more questions, and you can’t leave till you answer. That much I remember from the contract, I also believe that once you leave, I don’t get to ask anymore with a guarantee of truth.”

“Are you really forgetting that I’m the King of Hell and will pull out your tongue and feed it to you for a laugh?”

“You’ve been in my head; not great on remembering pain, not great on thinking about it in the future, and all physical pain is temporary.”

“Keep telling yourself that darling. 

“I will, thanks. So, Moose and not moose, were their depictions accurate?” Crowley is silent for a moment, I can’t tell whether he is proud I actually am getting better at reading contracts, or incensed that I would take advantage of it over him. Either way, it was best to keep quiet.

“Darling, if they depicted two completely competent hunters the show wouldn’t have been interesting.”

“So…”

“Let’s just say I feel they learned a bit more over time than the show depicts.” I mean… I guess that made sense. 

“...You, many of the monsters and villains, could have killed them so many times…”

“Well that would have ended the show, now wouldn’t it, and I couldn’t have that. Besides, one thing was very accurate about them; death Never seemed to Stick quite like it should have.”

“So how did you know they’d stay dead at 60?”

“I didn’t, but I figured there might be a better chance if they were both dead at once.”

“Are they in Hell?” 

“Are you insane? Darling, even if I had purview over their souls, which I half did considering the things they had done, I wouldn’t want them there. The trouble they’d cause? No, I happily sent those two to heaven.”

“What about you?”

“That’s a rather loaded question.”

“Well, you raised the sister of god theoretically, were insulted and abused by Lucifer, apparently came back from the Empty after you died! Is that all true?”

“Some. 

“I mean, did you actually die?”

“Well, I always was a light sleeper.” 

“Crowley...demons don’t sleep.”

“They do in the Empty.”

“Yeah, so…”

“Squirrel tried to talk to me, or got Billie or Jack to. Something about Sam’s soul being in contract, again, and well, I didn’t really feel like going back to sleep.”

“You got...kicked out? Of the fucking afterlife.”

“A devil’s work is never done.” I had, a while ago now, realized a fatal flaw in the contract I had written. It said he had to tell me about the show, the truth regarding it, but not what was actually true regarding what happened in reality. So this information, about things he did, anywhere from straight facts to wild lies. Still. It is fun to hear. 

“So did you free Sam’s soul?”

“Chew Toy, I tore up that contract so quickly-”

“How?”

“What do you mean, how?”

“It wasn’t your contract.”

“Of course it was my contract, all the contracts are my contracts.”

“Right, right. King of Hell.”

“That really seems to be a difficult concept for you to grasp tonight.”

“Crowley, it’s late, I haven’t eaten, and I’m tired. I can’t think past anything other than my next question. So, I’m just gonna keep asking questions until I run out, or pass out from hunger. So, what did you do to Hell to make it so much ‘better?’”

“Hmm?”

“You bragged to Sam that you had made changes to Hell. What changes?”

“Well, I halved the number of souls being tortured into demons, at least slowed down the process.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Ok, why really, you didn’t do it to be the good guy. C’mon.”

“It was a phase...that also had the added benefit of reducing the number of screams, the amount of paperwork for transferring or changing souls into demons, freed up the demons already down there to go hunt for my mother, at which they failed miserably.”

“I mean… yeah…. I guess.” I have a feeling that wasn’t quite the reason, or actually what he did, but I’m not going to push. “So why didn’t you kill them? Sam and Dean I mean, not the demons. You had a bajillion chances to kill them. That previous reason may be part of it, but finish your explanation or you’ll be in violation of the contract.”

“Again, boring TV. Secondly, they’re my heroes; keeping other players occupied, getting rid of the monsters who kept sending human souls to Purgatory, averting the apocalypse...getting rid of all my competition. My heroes. My big, dumb, flannel wearing, lumbering heroes. They did help kill mother after all.”

“So she didn’t die like in the show?”

“Darling, the three of them had a menage a trois a la death remember, before I fashionably crashed it? Very few ways to finish your journal posthumously.”

“I highly doubt that. I can think of a few...so. In that church...where your blood addiction started...that’s actually how it happened?”

“.....”

“It was! Holy shit! You...what? I mean, if as you say the two hunters were actually competent-”

“Still selfish-”

“Well yeah, or the gates of Hell would be-”

“Closed, yes.”

“But… I mean. I know if I was a hunter...who knew about that ritual. The first fucking thing I’d do is turn my biggest threat human….”

“They did.”

“What.”

“Chew Toy. That journal...was heavily edited via the delicate process of ripped out pages. That particular story arc, never saw the light of day.” I pause. 

“Did you lose the journals at some point? That’s how they got top side?”

“Very astute.”

“How?”

“With positive results.” Ok. I’m not getting anything from that line of inquiry. I do however have another question that I am dying to know...and might actually die to know if he doesn’t like it.

“Did...did you have a family Crowley? During that time? Is...is that why you like the family you’re with right now? They’re descendants? Related?”

“Darling...are you implying I married my own granddaughter?” Oh. Yeah no. 

“Right...so while you were human...what’d you do?”

There is silence. This is apparently not something he wants to talk about, at least not without more direct, possibly less painful, questions. 

“Did you help Sam and Dean?” His stony expression lightens at this. 

“We killed so many demons and monsters that I believe some of my enemies down in Hell were more afraid of me then than when I was king.”

“And what about the regret, the uhm...weight on your soul?” 

“Well, that’s what the killing was for. And the rampages. And the orgies. And the-“

“Got it. Got it.” The reply was far too quick to be the full truth, or even the truth at all, but I am not going to push that sensitive of a subject. “So how did you...become king again?”

“How do you think it happened? What would you have done?” Shit. He was turning it back on me. It is a question that asked me to create something, I had to answer or I’d violate the contract. I can feel the pull in my soul demanding that I fulfill it. 

“Well, if it was anything like the show...one dramatic problem after the other, usually of their own creation… I’d say the boys needed you to be king again for some reason. So they would have helped. If I was going for realism...if it was me, I wouldn’t be able to deal with all the weight of what I had done, or even just the years upon years of memories. I’d say you found a ritual in some dark book, maybe one you stole from your mother.”

We have walked to the other side of the tracks by now, and the king walks slowly beside me, listening amusedly as I spout ideas I had thought of for story arcs for the show, resolutions to problems in books I wanted to write, things I would have done. He takes it all in, ideas I didn’t even know I had until this second, and catalogues them for use and abuse. 

“Perhaps you made a deal with a crossroads demon to become a demon yourself then and there. Perhaps they recognized you and got greedy, trying to bag the King of Hell’s soul, told you that you had to wait your ten years, giving them time to prepare a nice cell for you; but you killed yourself immediately after they left. Perhaps you had to be tortured again. Perhaps you died another way but your soul was bound for Hell...and knowing it’s intricacies you navigated it until you...I dunno found your crown, found what’s her name...Croney, to turn you into a demon again via whatever means necessary. Crowley, there are hundreds of ways, of reasons. Hell could have been in turmoil and needed you back, you could have had a contingency plan set up for if the boys turned you human, I know I would have.” I keep talking, unable to stop, ideas just falling off my tongue. He had asked me to create a story. I have to answer. He just smiles, that tight lipped smile, as I verbally write short plot ideas for half baked episodes of possibilities. Humoring me, himself, the contract. Letting me fulfill a fantasy I didn’t know I had, telling him possible ways the character Crowley could have been used and abused. I slow my answers, or more accurately I run out, as I realize that these were things that not just a character could do or have done, but that the demon beside me could.

I am supposed to advise and create for him, true, but he is pulling out ideas that weren’t for him, but the character he portrayed. Learning what had gotten me brave, or stupid, enough to try to make a deal with the King of Hell. How much I thought I understood him and how wrong, or right, I am. 

Always, always scheming, using any and every instance to advance himself. Through my questioning of him he had learned, I had learned, and remembered, what I thought of him. 

I had loved his character, I had not wanted to see him go. And he is going to twist that, somehow, easily, slowly, into a similar feeling for him. I know it. It is another feeling for him to feel, one he craves above most others. One I could still apparently give him. Even after the torture, the mental duress, the possession, I still love the character. 

And therefore, in some part, him. 

I look to him, and he’s no longer there. 

And I am still locked out of my house. 

  
…Bollocks.


	17. The Digital Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is painting, and conniving, and a foolish lawyer.

I’m 60 when I next see him. I’m having a lazy morning, in my pajamas, with some toast and a book. 

Then suddenly I’m not. I’m in a stone room. At a desk. Looking at Crowley as he fills out some paperwork across from me. I blink. 

“Good morning Crowley.” He ignores me, going over a particularly bloody piece of paper. “Thought you hated paperwork.”

“I do. But this. This is interesting. And concerning. This is part of the standard rider we use. Printed. By a human. From a flash drive.”

“Oh.” He pauses. 

“It’s a bit more than an ‘oh.’ People could study it and learn about the loopholes in it! Or be scared off deals forever! This needs to be taken care of or the wording for every future deal will have to change!”

“Well, possess the guy and find out if he uploaded it to the cloud.” He glares at me. 

“You don’t think we’re trying! He’s in the wind.” I sigh. Not my problem. Not until he asked me to help. So I sit, wait, and listen to faint faint screams, moans. Some of which are happy...most are not. 

Eventually he looks up and eyes me for a moment before revealing why I’m here. 

“Crossroad deals are declining again.”

“Even with that new trick online contract that you threw away your integrity for?”

“It doesn’t work.” I look at him, confused. 

“What? You mean people aren’t clicking on the link?”

“No. I mean it doesn’t work because apparently the one rule that is unchangeable in a demon contract is that both parties must know when they are signing a contract for a soul.” I blink. 

“So until I actually signed our current contract…”

“You hadn’t actually signed a contract.” I look at him going over papers again acting as if he hadn’t just told me I sold my soul for almost no reason. Although...

“That’s what you were testing. Whether or not you could buy a soul from an unaware person, not a new type of sale.” He just looks up at me briefly, but it confirms it. “You still would have killed me, wouldn’t you? If I hadn’t made a deal.”

“Probably.” He says now not looking up from the papers at all. I shake my head. 

“So no sneaky deals?” He shakes his. “Well there go half my ideas.” At this he pauses and puts the papers down. 

“Really? You’d trick people into giving their souls away? You?” I chuckle. 

“Crowley, You wouldn’t have liked me as a demon.”

“Why, would you have broken your contracts?”

“No. I’m just not as nice as you.” 

“Really? You’re not as _nice_ as the King of Hell?” His gaze is amused and mildly curious as he taps his pen against the desk, the same pen I had signed my life away with. I sigh. 

“Crowley, let me rephrase. I don’t have your...integrity. People who think they can recharge their phone in a microwave don’t deserve a phone. People who are stupid enough to sign their soul away...on a contract, to someone they don’t know, or even someone they know that’s acting weird… then what ever happens is their own fault. If you sell your soul, you deserve what you get.” I can feel the amusement practically oozing out of him as he regards the supposed hypocrite in front of him. 

“You sold yours darling.”

“Did I fucking stutter? I thought I had a chance, I shoulda known better Crowley. I should have rerereread that contract before I signed it, or let you kill me. I failed. Perhaps I don’t ‘deserve’ this torture on moral grounds, but it’s what I get for the folly of my own stupidity. I’m afraid, I’m sick to my stomach, but I made peace with my fuck up long ago. I didn’t have a choice.” I take a breath and shake my head. My own views and feelings had changed over the years, they would be further twisted, no doubt, in the future by Crowley, but I really had made my peace as best I could. 

I hadn’t had kids lest they came in contact with Crowley, I had kept a minimal social life and told none of my closest friends, including my husband, about any of this. I had lived two compartmentalized lives the best I could. I was happy most of the time, I even got a certain satisfaction knowing I was actually being called on occasion to fulfill my contract with him and create shit. 

I look at my fate sitting across from me, and get back to work. 

“Now...I’m curious. The contract doesn’t work if the person doesn’t know about it...or doesn’t believe it’s real?” He is interested again. 

“You have an idea, please, enlighten me?” I wince. Yeah. I did. It wasn’t a nice one. 

“You won’t like it Crowley.”

“And yet, I insist you Try.” I sigh. 

“If I was a crossroads demon I would have had Halloween parties where the bouncer had people sign their names on contracts to ‘sell their soul’ in exchange for entering the club. People would know what’s going on, but they’d think it’s fake.” He stares at me. “I told you, you wouldn’t like it. It’s about as tacky as a brothel that takes soul currency instead of cash. I wouldn't have made a good demon under your purview.” He regards me, his face blank, and I remember his comment on my predilection towards the darker side of things. How my mind, in his opinion, was made for this kind of thinking, whether or not I wanted to act on it. I, however, felt I had experienced just enough crap to imagine worse; to want there to be worse out there because if what I experienced wasn’t the worst...it means I have it good. At least, that’s what I like to think. I’ve always been ok at introspection, or perhaps I was making shit up. That’s what I did best after all. 

So I keep imagining worse, so I can pretend that everything is ok. Then I imagine different realities to escape my own personal worst, and when I return, imagine how much worse it could be...and work hard to make sure it doesn’t happen.

I had failed in that. But now that I was here, I could still imagine worse. Far worse. He of course could tap into those ideas...but these were things he wouldn’t do. Because he wants me around. 

I hope. 

And even if he did them...I’ll imagine worse. I always do. It’s what I do. It’s why I was here, to imagine worse for him. 

I sit, and wait for his response through the silence that is only punctured by faint screams. He sits, watching the thoughts run through me, observing my slowly creeping sadness. Finally he speaks. 

“On the contrary. I would have kept you very close.” I roll my eyes. Back to business as usual. 

“So at the slightest hint of aspiration you could kill me.”

“No, I encourage aspiration.” I sigh. 

“Of course you do. You need at least some demons who can actually execute orders and adapt if needed. Provide services. Take over the boring stuff when you're fed up.” 

“Exactly, court will prove to be more interesting once you join me.” I pause. 

“So. That’s what I am. An alleviation to eternal boredom. Not yet though. I have a few more years I think.” At this he smiles, and goes back to look at his phone as it rings with Baby Got Back. He picks it up, unhappy. 

“This better be important, I’m in a meeti-.... In Guadalupe? Good. Possess him and Bring Him Here. I want to find out How he got that copy of the standard rider. Be here in two hours with him and All his electronics. Fail, and- oh. He wants to make a deal?” Crowley straightens and listens for a moment. “He’s… written his own contract?” Crowley smiles and looks at me and I feel a chill run down my spine. This human, is going to be in for a Hell of a ride. Literally. Crowley continues on the phone. “How amusing. Bring him. I’ll manage this deal myself. Tell him...that the King of Hell is impressed with his initiative and wants to go over the contract in person. Excuse me? I’ll be impressed if the contract is actually any good! Right now he’s just another problem you fools have left me to deal with so Bring Him Here!” He hangs up and sighs. 

“So. What you gonna do to him?” Crowley regards me, his anger slowly dissipating. 

“Well perhaps...first, possess him and find where the copies of My contract are! Then… whatever I want.” I shudder. That idiot of a man. I was stupid to go into a contract, but he is suicidal if he thought he could steal from the King of Helll.

“And if the contract is any good?”

“Hire him, permanently, for my legal team.”

“That will take some time.” His silence tells me that is not necessarily true. He ignores me and continues. 

“I still need a solution for the declining crossroads deals.”

“Make an app.” He stops and stares. 

“Excuse me?”

“An app.”

“You’re acting like I didn’t sign the deal that made the first one.”

“Yeah then you know how easy they are to use. Very available. Bone from a black cat or milk from a black cow? Not so much. People are lazy Crowley, even in their desperation they are lazy, they also like animals. Make an app that people can bring to the crossroads instead of a box filled with animal parts. I know I’d be more likely to do it just to see if it worked if it didn’t involve a cat bone.” He raises his brows at me and chews his tongue a moment before nodding. 

“It’s a start, and a step sideways from the norm. You’ll design the art for it.”

“Uhhh. As long as you can make sure the style isn’t traced back to me.”

“Good point, you’re fired. Now, we have another matter to discuss before we return to this subject.” He takes out his phone and dials a number. I wait, nervous and confused. Is he calling in someone? To do what?

Then my phone rings.

“Miiister Crowley. What went on in your he-ad? Oh Mister Crowley.” I sigh and cancel the call while Crowley stares.

“Really. Do you have to be so cliche and obvious?” I chuckle.

“That’s been your ringtone for nigh on twenty years, Crowley.” He stares. “You just found out about this?”

“A demon heard me call you. Thought I should know.”

“Why, because your meatsuit has to be above cheap gags?”

“No! Because it could lead people to me!” He yells out, angry at my supposed stupidity.

“Crowley. The whole fucking world knows I’m your secondary meatsuit. Hellhound’s been out of the cage for a few years now. Also, for anyone who doesn’t know about it...I love Ozzy. I listen to his music all the time. Have you seen my playlists? Half of my music is dark or heavy metal. Yeah, yours is the only ringtone I have music set to, but when people ask I just say it’s an inside joke between the two of us. Which...it kinda is. It’s your fucking theme song. How did you not know about this?” He stares at me, angrily.

“I don’t comb every atom of your being every time I see you, I don’t really need to know that you went to buy cucumbers and condoms. Nice combination by the way.” I sigh. Of course that would be something he’d notice.

“For an art project commenting on the-”

“Don’t care. What I do care about is your seemingly careless attitude toward our agreement!” He says as I snort a small laugh as he glares at me. 

“Have I terminated our contract in some way?” He pauses. “Let me answer for you.” He looks at me curiously. “It doesn’t fucking matter.”

“Really? Do tell. What makes you think I won’t put you on the rack or in the line the moment you violate the contract?”

“Because I have on occasion proved useful in ways a demon just can’t. More importantly, because I’m your Chew Toy, not someone else’s. Because you’ve put effort into me making me into your fucking emotional popcicle! I’m worth Less in the line or on the rack, not more. And even if I’m wrong...the rack will be finite compared to what you have in store and the line.” I shake my head. “I have no idea if it would be better than this, but I have a feeling that going into the line aware of the rules, makes them easier to break. That type of patience, waiting in line, even less of a virtue of mine than yours. Besides, you’d take me out of it eventually.”

“Oh? Why?” I sneer at his question. 

“You’ve grown accustomed to me, you like the way my soul _tastes_ too much.” He smirks and nods. He snaps his fingers again and I lurch in my seat, a ripping feeling in my chest. I feel queasy as a small spark of light flies out of my mouth to Crowley, where it circles his head. This wasn’t like draining energy, or emotions. He had ripped off a single piece of my soul like a chunk of bread. The demon smiles, flicks his finger and the piece of my soul flies into the red smoke wisping out slightly to grab it. I shudder and twitch, tired and feeling unclean.

“Call me.” I tense, stare for a moment, but take out my phone and dial his number. It rings on my end for a second or two, and then a familiar tone starts up. 

“Three hits on the six is the number that you dial…” I look at him with the look he gave me not a moment before. 

“Really?” He holds the phone, shaking it, letting it ring in the background.

“Really. I thought it suited our relationship.” The song continues.

“I do what the good girls... should never ever never ever do.”

“You...got that song from my Pandora station...didn’t you.”

“It’s a good station. Just the right amount of darkness to make people concerned but not enough to call the cops.” The song still echoes in the background. 

“Hey hey hey, since I’m gonna go to Hell anyway, I’ll go out with a bang bang bang, crash and burn it all away. Hey he-“ Crowley cancels the call and sets the phone down. I swallow, there was a lot of twisted subtext in those lyrics when it came to my situation. 

“While I feel I’m justified in being a pot here, I’m honored that the kettle changed his ringtone just for me. It’s not gonna be very useful once my body is gone though...I won’t really be able to call you.”

“I’ll milk it a bit longer anyway. Now. Any other tidbits you’d care to share with me?”

“You mean ideas. No, I think the app would be the best thing, unless you need those ingredients to summon the demon from Hell.”

“Why do you think I’m asking?” I pause, file that information away, and then think for a second. 

“Well if the demon is on earth and local they could just get an alert as the closest demon. If no one is close you’d need to set up a dummy company, with demons working it so that they can sell summoning kits in tandem with the app. I still say the biggest problem is that people aren’t gonna want to get those ingredients. I’d make the kit that actually works like...$300. So you don’t get flooded with requests. Send regular demons or whatnot for any kit worth less to put on a show. I’d also put a jammer in the bottom of the box so people aren’t recording it, and have your demons carry one. You’d be selling ‘experiences’ after all, people like to record those.”

“Pardon?” Crowley looks confused, even mildly concerned. 

“It’s a thing. Companies sell experiences. Like a murder mystery one sends letters and photos and you have to figure out what’s going on. You’d sell that. ‘Go to the crossroads, summon the demon. Sell your soul in this fun experience.’ Blah blah. If someone actually shows up to do the deal one of your demons can judge the situation and either do a real deal or put on an obviously over the top fake show. If word gets out and you become popular, raise the price for the real kit and hire humans to show up as demons at the fake deals. Or have a fucking recording in the box that activates when they say the words, that should be simple enough magic.” He looks at me, incredulous. 

“That’s a very dangerous game, if angels or hunters use the system we could be found out.”

“Put those pretty symbols on the box that won’t let angels open them. It’ll add to the flavor of the “experience.” Sure it’ll tip off the hunters and you might lose some demons, but they should know how to defend themselves, and it’s a company. Hunters can’t stop people from using the app, they can’t spread word about the truth to the normies; so unless they can smear the company name… which; one, I doubt there are many hunters with that level of social media following, and two if it works then you just lean into it. ‘Yes. We are bad, we are demons. Come make a deal.’ The biggest threat would be if it was exposed you were using real cat bones. You would need to find a reputable way to obtain them, and donate to animal shelters. You’d hide in plain sight. You already did, you know how it works. Also, you can put a camera feed or a spell in the box that when buried creates like a wind or cracks the earth to get rid of traps, and again it’ll only add to the ‘experience.’ You're not selling just deals here, you're selling a reprieve from boredom. Which I believe you understand the value of. That isn’t just a problem you have. I just guess it’s more acute the longer you live and the smarter you are. So whether a deal actually goes down would only be half of what the company does, it would be half legitimate. You’d be doing business in the human world, with humans, with no strings. You could get your smokey claws further into the business world if you do it right, could be fun.”

“Fun?” I smile at his confusion. 

“New world to conquer Crowley, and going about it the hard way without deals, could be interesting. Do you think you can do it? Take over a few corporations Without using contracts or magic?”

“Of course. Without breaking a sweat.”

“I’m not so sure. But if you do manage, it’d definitely expand your personal army. The Crowley Loyalists.”

“How?”

“By taking over the right companies.”

“We already own Disney.” I laugh, out loud, at the claim, ignoring the displeasure rolling off him in waves. 

“No you don’t. I”m sorry Crowley. But that is one lie I won’t believe.”

“Why? It ruins your childhood?” I laugh again. 

“No. Because it’d take too many resources. Disney is huge Crowley. You may have contracts with people there, maybe even with people at the top, same with Amazon, or Netflix, but all of Disney? It covers too many things, you don’t have enough demons.”

“Yet. I don’t have enough demons, yet.”

“Oh so you admit to the lie, that’s new. I suppose this means you undid the changes you made to Hell?” He takes a breath and relaxes in his chair. It’s odd, this relationship between us. I was his confidant, unwilling or otherwise. I knew a bit about him, probably more than most demons, but was more under his control than any of them. He answered my questions, unburdened himself to me; to see me squirm at what he says, perhaps to watch me try to figure out what was true, perhaps even to just get the relief of telling someone. But he told me things. 

“With the right type of souls coming in ready to be turned, or trained depending on the contract, I needed the facilities to be in full working order again. So yes. Hell is in full gear.”

“Bully for you. Can I go back to bed now please?” I wave at my pajamas.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I want you to meet this man who thinks he can do better than you did.” I stare. I know for a fact Crowley thought I did well with my contract...for a human. Which means nothing, I think.

“So, what you really mean is you want to show off what will happen to this man if he fucks up?” Crowley nods slightly at me, and I sigh. “Can I be in something other than pajamas? That isn’t rags! Not Rags!” I add quickly. Crowley snorts but snaps his fingers and my old suit from our first soul meeting appears; still bloody, still ripped. I smile, I have to, it is perfect and makes a point. “I didn’t take you for the sentimental type Crowley.” I say as I head behind a useless pillar to change. I find it interesting that he didn’t just change my clothes for me. It’s not like he hadn’t seen my body, it’s not like he hadn't used and abused it in ways that should make me far more embarrassed than my nudity, but hey, I was being polite. I hear a laugh and I slide out from behind the pillar. Ok, so no politeness. I shake my head at his paranoia, or the perverted pleasure that he got from my supposed embarrassment. “Crowley, I have a phone and some toast, I have nothing I could even hope to use to muck up anything here and that’s if I wanted to. Or...do you just want a show?” At this he looks up from his papers. He gives me a once over and then goes back to work.

“Darling, if I wanted a show, I’d call someone who could actually entertain correctly, one with a nice body.”

“Ouch Crowley, I’m almost hurt.” It’s odd, how comfortable I have grown to this abuse, this light exchange of banter, when so much worse has happened. Of course, that was what compartmentalization was for. If I let those memories out, my anxiety over them will send me into full blown breakdowns. I do my best to push them away, these ‘light’ instances of torture. I know he could have done far worse, I had thought it before, that he was going easy on me. I was just lucky none of my actions had warranted worse...or that he hadn’t gotten bored. He had other people for that type of abuse right now. Right now...I am for something else. Besides, he didn’t have to do anything to torture me anymore. As I’ve told myself before, at least hoping for its validity, he knew leaving me to imagine things he could do, was far worse than doing them. I hope. I mean, he had yet to make me bathe in bugs, but that seemed too… literal for him. He enjoyed irony and poetry too much. If he was going to do something to someone, it would be one of two things...Pain that is often followed by death, or some series of events that would break a person. If he broke me, I wouldn’t be half as much fun. I was a ‘safe’ toy that could needle and poke and retaliate, but not do any real damage… Theoretically.

I button up the front of the outfit and sigh, surprised I still fit in it. Of course my appetite went between stuffing my face and not eating until I got nauseous depending on what Crowley had decided to subject me to recently, so I wasn’t surprised. I look down at the hole that had caused my first death. I am thinking in circles, hopeful circles, but circles that are scary nonetheless.

“Penny for your thoughts.” 

“I’m going to miss our banter when you decide to finally break me or bring me home.” The shuffling of papers and scratching of a pen stops and I can feel him looking at me.

“What makes you think that the banter will stop? It’s one of the few things you are occasionally good at.” I sigh and turn my gaze from the white tinted windows to my doom.

“Crowley, unless you take good care of me, which isn’t something you’re going to do, I will eventually go mad.” At this Crowley smiles.

“That’s what’s so amazing about souls, without a body to hold the trauma, they just go on forever, or until they turn into a demon.” I chuckle at the veiled hint of terror in his statement. 

“Or go numb and fall apart. You forgot numb.”

“You’re not capable of that, not my darling Chew Toy.”

“You’d be surprised, Crowley. I also promise that I will most likely be the first soul to ever go insane. I’ve said it before, if anyone can do that, it’s me.” Crowley chuckles this time.

“I look forward to it. The moment you do, your value drastically decreases.”

“I won’t care, I’ll be insane.”

“Yes, but it’s a reason to try to hold on.”

“Nooot really. Again, I’ll be insane. Kinda the point, it’s literally my only out of this situation.” I lean against the pole and look at him going through the papers, looking for any changes that might have been made to his standard rider by this insolent human. The light from the windows barely reaches the desk and its outline creates an ironic cross on the desk. I chuckle. “I’ve wondered what it would be like, to be insane. I guess it depends on the type of insanity, there are so many.” He ignores me, takes a scroll out of a drawer and compares a section on it to the piece of paper he is holding. “When do you think this doomed soul will arrive? He was in Guadalupe? Where are we now?” 

Crowley pauses and glares at me.

“We are at the end of my patience. Shut up or I will sew your mouth shut.” I shrug. 

“Sure, can I have a pencil first?” He stares at me, eyes wide with disbelief. Was I really asking for something when he had just threatened me? “Please? And a single piece of paper.”

“Why?”

“So I can capture your handsome visage Crowley. To draw.” He blinks, then picks up his phone. It rings a moment before he talks. I stand still, suddenly nervous. 

“Anthony, bring me an easel and the usual paints and brushes. No, not soon, Now. Or you’ll be My canvas, and I don’t use brushes. YES bring canvas too. Do I have to clarify what should be obvious! I’m asking for paints, therefore I need a canvas!” He hangs up the phone and sighs. I’m completely confused. I had taken a risk and assumed I’d get minimal returns, a stub of a pencil and some bloody scrap. Of course, the king likes the finer things, perhaps that’s what he wanted me to produce? That type of perfection doesn’t happen quickly, and not often under stress. I try to pass the moment with banter, an attempt to draw out some tidbit of information. 

“A king’s work is never done, is it? No one is ever quite as smart as they should be either.” The only response is a half glare accompanied by a half tired sigh. 

Soon enough a demon rushes in with an easel made of very red wood. Another follows behind carrying at least 4 types of canvas and paper, along with a set of red paints and brushes. 

“I was going to save this for a special occasion, but this seems as good a time as any. Have fun, I expect Glorious results and complete silence.” I take a look at the paints to determine what type of canvas I’ll need and sigh.

“Crowley… are these paints made of blood?” He doesn’t answer at all, it is obvious they are. I quickly call out after the retreating demon. “Hey. HEY! What’s the base for these paints? Water, or oil?” The demon pauses, and looks back at the king for permission to answer. Crowley doesn’t look up. “Look, I can’t paint if I don’t know, and he wants me to paint.”

“O-oil.”

“Thanks. Get me linseed oil, turpentine, a palette knife, paint paper, and a rag.” The demon looks at Crowley again, who just waves his hand. The demon leaves in a rush. I sigh and grab a gessoed white canvas. I hadn’t painted in this style since college. With only one color, using linseed oil to lighten it, and the white of the canvas for the highlights. I look at Crowley, and get an idea. It’s what he’s hired me for after all. I have no idea if he will like it, but it’d be fun. 

“Hey, I’m taking a photo of you for reference.”

“If you don’t delete it afterward…and be quiet.”

“Yeah eternal pain.” I take the photo and use the phone to superimpose a grid, and then start to paint the only way one who is super nervous should paint. I grid it out, and make each section abstract. Next I take the pencil and shade in every area that is a wall or floor with small blocks of stone then add pillars. I sketch the desk, make the pile of papers, and draw in the very ironic bright light with the cross shadow. By the time I’m finished the demon has gotten me the materials I probably won’t need much of. I look at Crowley, hunched over the desk reading quickly. Shifting back and forth, picking up and putting down papers. Completely engrossed. I begin to sketch him, including each movement, not worrying about the lines overlapping, not making sense. The only thing crisp is the outline of his head. 

I take photos of him as he moves across the room to take a call, and then sketch each of them. I go full Duchamp ‘Nude Descending a Staircase No. 2’ except with less cubism. I finally dip a paintbrush in the red paint. I had honestly wanted to try this for a while. Blood is one of the Weirdest unpredictable substances when it comes to how it dries. It can stay red, or turn brown, it can become completely opaque, or have a weird shiny crust. It can become super bright, or really dark. I have no idea what turning it into an oil based paint will do, and I sure as Hell am not going to ask where he got the blood. 

I take the medium brush and paint in the main figure; crisp dark red suit, sitting at the desk, using the darkest pigment...maybe from an artery. I grab the next lightest color, I’m gonna call it nosebleed red, and begin to use it to fill in the head, but stop after the first stroke. If I wanted to do the single color technique I needed to stick with a single paint. If the shade was even a little different, it wouldn’t work. Also, I am a bit out of practice. I think I’ll forgo shading altogether. I go back to artery red and fill in a very loose depiction of the head. THEN I go to nosebleed red and fill in another one of the Crowleys’ silhouettes and motion filled with suggestion. Just a faint reminiscence of a man, a ghost, a moment in time. I do this for each image I have until they are all filled in. I pause, I wanted to paint smoke between the figures, but I had used all the colors. I sigh, I had an idea. It was a good idea, but it was dangerous. 

But hey, art. You suffer for your art, or it’s not good. I was just gonna take it to the next level. The deadly level.

“Crowley.”

“Mmm?”

“You have any vials of my blood left?” At this the sound of pen on paper stops.

“What.”

“Do you have an-”

“I heard. Why?”

“To paint with.”

“You have paint. A myriad of arterial spray in front of you.”

“I need one more color, and in a different medium.” I hear a sigh.

“Artists.” There is a snap and a vial appears on the palate.

“Thanks.”

“Interrupt me again and you’ll have more blood to work with.” I ignore him and uncork the vial and dip my last clean brush in it; too thin. I add some linseed oil and shake it. Doesn’t work. I sigh. It’ll have to do. 

I take the brush and paint one large block of a wave connecting all the figures into a cohesive timeline. 

Finally I take the lightest shade of red and add a dollop of it to a rather large bit of linseed oil. Thin it out as much as possible, then paint that light on the desk, that odd little cross in the center. I go over the cross in pencil again before going over the desk with pencil once more as well. I stand back. It’s not the greatest painting, but it is very interesting. 

A voice behind me echoes my thoughts.

“Interesting.” I jump a foot and turn to frown at Crowley, who has been there for who knows how long. 

“Crowley descending into boredom.”

“Aptly named.”

“Yeah, I figured. Is the idiot gonna be here soon?” 

“No clue, time moves differently here.” I sigh.

“Do you like this?”

“Not really.”

“Good.” I take the pencil and use it to start writing in the wet paint, completely skewing the silhouettes. I mimic a series of paintings I had done ages and ages ago. In my twenties I think. I just start to write down every word that I can connect with Crowley, my situation, Hell. Any words that come to mind I put down. I’m barely four words in when my arm freezes. I can’t move. The pencil vanishes from my grip and is replaced with a familiar fountain pen.

“If you’re going to write about me, use the right ink.” I sigh, and continue writing. It stings a bit, but he’s right, this is the medium I should be using. It is a blood painting after all. I start writing smaller, there are so many words, so many. I write them all, whether or not they will get me in trouble. I really need to pass the time. I have no idea how long I would be here. So I write. Crowley. King. Demon. Devil. Dark. Ruler. Cruel. Neat. Witty. Suits. Crown. Red. Tools. Torture. Manipulative. Smart. Addiction. Supernatural. Needles. Contracts. Signatures. Misleading. Secrets. Party of the first part. Complicated. Integrity. Daringest Devil.

I keep going, and I’m halfway down the 8th line when Crowley’s phone rings. Right behind me. I jump again. I don’t really pay attention to the outside world when I am doing such small detail work.

“Yes? Make him wait. I’ll call when he can come in.” He hangs up and continues watching over my shoulder. I pause.

“Uh, he’s here?”

“Yes. Continue. You forgot my devilishly handsome face.”

“Crowley, that’s your vessel.”

“And?” I sigh. 

Handsome. Ginger. Beard. Mark Sheppard. Meat suit. Family. Father. Owner. Creatively cruel. Sexual deviant. Sadomasochist. Salt. Sigils. Breaking. Broken.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I sigh and stiffen. 

“At least 10 different things, it would depend on who you ask as well. For me, it refers to myself, the people you’ve broken, as well as the times you’ve felt broken.”

“I’ve never-”

“Let me write the next word Crowley. The words before and after are just as important, they change the meaning, give it more. I can’t believe I’m asking this, but...patience. The painting can be taken in parts and as a whole.” I keep going as I talk, before he can decide to be angry or not.

Almost. Undaunted. Defiant. Survivor. Achiever. Killer. Murderer. Thief. Sureshot. Perfect aim. Swordsman. Counterintuitive. Contradictive. Powerful. Rising. Risin. Falling. Fell. Recovered. Continuous. King of the Crossroads. King of Hell. Fergus. Scotland. Athletic calves. Kilt. England. Accent. Adaptive. Disturbing. Finer things. False. True. Loopholes. Tricked. Tickster. Traveler. Snap. Whiskey. Scotch. Craig scotch aged 30 years. Sober. Drunk. Politician. Mastermind. Happenstance. Doomed. Coincidence maker. Warper of reality. Ageless. Time. 10 years. Healing. Hurting. Cyclical. Chew Toy. Anxiety. Fear. Fearful. Brave. Actor.

I keep going until I reach the end of the canvas, where I don’t sign my name but instead write ‘party of the second part.’ I stand and stretch, my muscles a bit stiff. The painting in the back is barely visible, a memory. I nod. Yeah, this is what I wanted. 

“Title is now ‘Perspective of a subject on their king.” Crowley tilts his head, and regards it. He snaps his fingers and it bursts into flames.

“No!” I quickly back away from the flames as they eat at the canvas slowly, not quite able to catch the wet paint yet.

“Really, you’re going to try to protest?”

“Turpentine! Crowley, I don’t care that you’re burning it, I Love it, it’ll look awesome. It has meaning that you’re burning it, what is left will mean even more than it does now, but I’m human, and that art piece has chemicals! And there’s really flammable turpentine right there! Let me back the Hell away before you do that!” Crowley looks at me, actually a bit surprised. “Seriously, move the fucking turpentine away from the flames! It won’t just ruin your suit, it’ll fucking ruin the air I’m breathing.” Crowley sighs and with a wave the everything but the painting and the easel is gone. I breathe a sigh of relief and relax. I lean over, hands on my knees and just breathe a moment. I was a bit high from the fumes, there weren’t really open windows in here, and I had no idea how long I’d been standing here painting. It was a biggish room, but no bigger than my college art studio. 

“Jesus fucking christ.”

“Language.” I roll my eyes and look at the painting, the flames licking at the areas without paint. It wasn’t burning in the way I would like, it needed more fire at the bottom left. I frown, and look for something flammable to move the flames. 

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for something flammable so I can move the flames around a bit, burn the canvas so it looks better.” Crowley watches me looking around for anything to use, but all I see are his desk and his papers, and I’m not fucking stupid enough to use that. I sigh and I pull my arm up the sleeve of my already ruined suit and light the end on fire. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” I quickly use the flame to light the bottom corner and then the coat ignites more.

“Shit shit shit.” I throw the coat to the ground and stomp it out. Crowley is looking at me like I’m insane. I laugh as I put the coat back on.

“Told you I was already close to insane.”

“What you are is close to stupid.”

“You have to be a little idiotic sometimes for your art. Yeah I coulda taken the coat off, but I didn’t think of that at the time did I? Besides, it would have taken up time. Can I put the canvas out now?” Crowley is just shaking his head, incredulous that I am still working with this piece of burnt canvas, but waves his hand indicating I can. I think for a moment, then take my coat off again and put it on the ground. I throw the painting on top of it and then close the coat and use the sleeves to smother the flames, careful to not get oil paint on the floor, making sure I get some of the red on the front of the jacket. 

Oil paint doesn’t come out or off of Anything easily. Blood is the same. Blood based oil paint would probably stain something for eternity. It also now looked like I had fresh blood on me. I take a big breath and grab the canvas with the jacket, quickly putting it back on the easel so the hot cloth wouldn’t burn me. It does anyway.

“Ow ow ow fuck.” I hear a sigh from nearby.

“Hurry this along.” I take the jacket off the canvas and regard the burned art piece as I don the smoldering jacket. It is a mess, but the main damage is to the upper left corner, and some on the bottom left, and a tiny scorch on the right. The paint is blackened like old blood, and the words are burned through and still red hot and smoking. I smile, and look at the King of Hell.

“What?”

“You don’t realize what we just did, do you?”

“Please tell me. I’m so excited to know.” The sarcasm hurts it’s so sharp. 

“We just collaborated on a piece of art.” Crowley rolls his eyes and snaps, and everything crumbles to ashes. I chuckle. It was even more of a Duchamp piece now. I quickly take out my phone and delete all the pictures I took and then look at the king.

“Where do you want me to stand?” Crowley sighs and walks to his desk, and I’m suddenly standing to the left of him. As soon as he’s situated he takes out his phone.

“Bring him.” 

It takes a minute or two but soon the front doors open and a tall thin man with glasses and sandy brown hair walks in. Crowley looks at the man as the demon’s close the doors behind him and stand guard on either side. The young man of no more than 30 looks at the king, then around the room as if expecting someone else. He blinks, then swallows. He apparently recognizes the king’s current meatsuit. How much he recognized him could help him walk out of here alive. 

The king temples his fingers and regards the man, silently, for a few minutes. Eventually the man coughs and begins to talk.

“Sir I-”

“Silence. Do you know who I am?”

“The ruler of Hell?” Nope. Kid didn’t know a damn thing, didn’t even know the correct title. He recognizes the face as ‘a guy he had seen on tv a bunch,’ and that is not enough to help him here. Or perhaps his lack of knowledge would be better.

“No. Not just that. I’m the owner and writer of the contract you stole. Where did you get it?”

“I-I..”

“I-I.” Crowley mocks. “You’re in front of a KING. Act Like It! Where Did You Get The Contract?”

“A--” The man swallows. “A demon, I went to make a deal and said I wanted time to review the contract. They said I could look at it there, so-so I did, and played this uh, this recording I found online.” Crowley’s face tightens in anger as he hears of the ineptitude.

“What recording.” The young man gulps.

“Uhm, an exorcism.” Crowley sighs and looks at one of the guards.

“Find the demon who was fool enough to let a mortal look at the contract without the normal precautions. Then alert the clean up crew that an exorcism was found online again, I’ll send the specifics shortly.” I look at Crowley. I couldn’t remember any precautions taken when we had done my contract...of course he had eventually taken my phone...and he is the fucking king. The demon nods and leaves, and another one from outside replaces him. Crowley looks at the young man. “And what do you hope to gain from this?”

“K-knowledge. Demon contracts are foolproof, and binding, and full of loopholes. I want to to be able to do that.” The young man is shaking, but holding his suitcase to his chest. 

“And so, instead of making a deal to obtain that...you ran off with the contract? In hopes of what?” 

“Of… uhm, being better prepared for if you came after me.”

“Oh? And do you think you’re prepared?” The young man nods. I sigh and he looks at me. I raise my brows and smile, shaking my head at his stupidity. He looks at my clothes, stained with old blood, and some paint that definitely makes it look like I’ve been freshly tortured. He sees my jacket, still slightly smoldering around one sleeve. He ignores me, probably assuming I am a bodyguard. A completely unneeded one unbeknownst to him. Crowley notices the young man’s gaze.

“Ah, I see you’ve noticed my...human friend here.” I swallow, chew my tongue in an attempt to not laugh. I am not his friend.

“Hu-human?” The young man says as he pales, my assumptions about his assumptions confirmed. 

“Yes.” Crowley smiles and tilts his head. “She is the last person who tried to write their own contract with me. Now, she’s my pet. Isn’t that right darling?” I manage to keep a straight face.

“No sir.” Crowley turns to look at me.

“What?” His voice is filled with venom and promise, but I’m going to risk it for a higher prize. I am being asked to play a part, and I am going to play it as well as I can.

“That is far too high a designation for me.” I look the young man dead in his eyes and I can see him pale even more. Crowley pauses, raises a brow and nods in mild approval. He then looks back at the young man.

“See what a good Chew Toy she is, and she’s only been with me for three decades.” The young man swallows and clutches his suitcase tighter. “What can you offer that she can’t?” There is silence. It stretches. Crowley breaks it. “Show me the contract you’ve written.”

Minutes pass as he reads. The young man stands, shifting back and forth, silent unless Crowley asks questions. I stand stock still, occasionally glancing at the king. 

“Chew Toy.”

“Yes sir?”

“What do you think of this clause?” I blink confused, but lean down to read. “There.” He points to the small fine print under a footnote.

‘Party of the first part shall own the party of the second part’s soul ad infinitum if and only if the party of the second part dies of natural causes.’

I nod my head. It is small fine print, but apparently the young man knew most anyone who made a deal was killed and then collected by a Hellhound. If that happened, it would void his contract.

“What does he want sir?” 

“To be under the tutelage of someone named ‘the King of the Crossroads.’”

“That isn’t a very good request.”

“Oh? What should he be asking for?”

“He shouldn’t be asking for some lesser king, he should be asking to study under you, the King of Hell.” Crowley takes the joke in stride, especially since he decided to keep both titles, and doesn't react besides a small glance up at me. “He obviously needs the best help he can get if this is the contract he is trying to use. I mean, does he even define ‘natural death’ or ‘natural life’?" Crowley flips to the front of the document.

“No. No, I believe he’s relying on the definition used in courts.”

“I believe that is quite different than the definition listed by the court of Hell?” I had no clue if I was right or not, but it is making the kid shake which is the point. It’s showing him how careful he would have to be dealing with rules down here. “It’s a good first attempt sir. Maybe in 5 years or so?”

“I don’t know…”

“Sir, is this the only loophole?” At this the kid swallows.

“There’s at least one more.”

“Sir, if I remember correctly, my contract had at least six.” I see him look at me out of the corner of his eyes for but a second, realizing quickly I’m trying to take advantage of the situation to find out about my own contract.

“Actually yours only had three or so if I remember correctly, but one happened immediately, and the other two you were easily manipulated into. However, Chew Toy. You’re trying to get information out of me. What did we say about that?” We hadn’t, but I’m not a writer for nothing. 

“...If I get caught, I’ve failed.” 

“Correct.” There’s a sound of wind and I buckle as red smoke pours into me. I fall to my knees as it roughly pulls me out and as I fly I can hear the faint thud of my body hitting the ground. A moment later and I’m seeing out of Crowley’s eyes as he watches the young man shake.

“It looks like I might have a position open.” The young man before us both is trembling as Crowley takes a scroll out of a drawer and holds it out to him. “This is the new standard rider. Find every loophole in it and we may just write up a contract for you together.” So that’s what he’d been working on for the past however many hours while I painted. 

“And if...if I don’t?”

“Then you sign a contract I’ve written up especially for you, with no changes.”

“You-you can’t force me to-”

“You’re in HELL! MY Kingdom! I’m being NICE. I could have you put on the racks as is, but I’m giving you ONE chance to impress me. So, you Better impress me.” The kid nods and takes the contract, but Crowley holds onto it. “You have 4 hours.” He let’s go and the kid stumbles back, nodding. Crowley looks at the two demons at the door. “Take him to antechamber 2. Remove the entrails first.”

Crowley waves to the demon on the left who nods and grabs the kid by the arm. As soon as they leave Crowley looks at the remaining demon. “Make sure that the copies of the original standard rider are with him and obtain the name of that website. If he’s given false information, possess him...No. Possess him after he gives you the information, if he’s lied, kill him and bring his soul to the racks.” The demon nods and leaves, closing the door behind him. 

Crowley sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. 

“Idiots.” The demons or the human? Crowley straightens up and looks around the room. “Everyone.” I dunno, I thought I played my part well.

At this thought Crowley pauses, and looks at my crumpled body. 

“It wasn’t what I’d call a 5 star performance, but it got the job done. I didn’t think you’d lean into it that much.” Really. You didn’t expect the person who Writes Horror stories for Fun to lean into a part that Scared someone. Possibly enough to make him realize how dire the situation was, to encourage him to try to make a deal that didn’t involve his soul?

“You’re lying darling, you did that for fun.” Ok, yeah, I’m a horrible person, but if my performance had those effects I’d call it a win. Crowley gives a mental acknowledgement, already looking to the next item on his agenda. He exhales and I fly back to my body.

“Call me sometime darling, that’s an order.”

And I’m back in bed just as my husband comes in with tea. 

  
  



	18. The Proof of the Addiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the addiction becomes apparent, and results in a death that was a long time coming.

Years go by. I keep my contract with him. I problem solve. Occasionally I play host to him. Make more drinks. Normal stuff, between the torment. I accept my fate to be...absorbed... or abused. Or lie to myself that I have. Isn't much I can do. I just hope there will be some of me left. Or perhaps that is the wrong thing to wish for.

But, I should have known something was up. After he stopped drawing blood. After he refused to let me die by any other hand than his own. After he hinted to me, repeatedly, that I was his favorite toy.

He comes to me, stands beside me as I read in my chair, 16 years later in 2067. 

“Hello darling.” I jump a bit and lose my place. I sigh. I should be more scared of him. Terrified. I was, but not right now. I am too tired. He sits across from me, legs crossed, fingers toying with a familiar rock, the one I had stolen from Hell years ago, a reminder of my continuous fuck ups.

“Hello Crowley, how are the kids?”

“Getting along fine without mama and papa. We both died at the ripe old age of 90.” He looks at me, surprised I hadn’t kept up. “It's been 2 years since I died… It was in the news.”

I sigh and close the book. “I know. I was being polite. Your meat suit looks good for having been buried alive.” 

“I took a dirt nap. It was a relaxing three days, after which I had a very biblical awakening.” He looks at me with fake incredulity for a brief moment before continuing. “The kids are fine. Now...to business.” I sigh once again and look at the demon. He is waiting expectantly. 

“What can I do for you Crowley?”

“It’s time to come home.” I freeze up. It’s too soon, it’d always be too soon, but still.

“I’m not dead yet.”

“Yes well, despite your Monty Pythonesque declaration, I’m claiming the right to inspection.”

“The doctors say I’m pretty good for-.”

“And I say….you’re not. So…”

“But...the doctor’s evaluation is what determines-”

“Not if I own your soul, and darling, I’ve owned it for some time now.” I mean, I guessed it’d probably happen. Somehow. 

“For how long?”

“Darling, the day you died in the car crash.” Ah, so that’s why he wanted me dead. 

“But you interfered. That doesn’t count as a natural death really.”

“Immediate interference. I just moved you, the explosion killed you.” Of course. 

“So why?”

“Hmm?”

“Why now? I’m pretty fucking healthy. As a home away from home I still have good structural integrity. So, if the king would care to humor his humble subject...fucking why?” He laughs the single huff of a laugh I had grown familiar with over the ages. 

“Well since it’s your last…” he looks at the clock on the wall as if measuring the minutes till my death, “time out here, why not.” He looks at me, wrinkled, old, and says words that send chills down my spine.

“After having been soul buddies, my short little trips from blood just...aren’t vibrant anymore. They fill me with whatever emotion I should be experiencing, not very controllable. It lingers when I don’t want it to. Feelings. All the time. Disgusting. I want to feel what I want to feel, when I want to feel it. Is that too much to ask?”

“That’s not not how emotions work Crowley.”

“For you maybe. Now I lasted for a long time, letting you ripen, holding out for the occasional visit.” I nod, trying to understand, but not really up for dissecting his statements right now. He looks at me, probably for the last time, and says “But, well...daddy needs his fix.” His body falls back into his seat and the red storm comes at me, and everything goes dark. 

I wake up, not too long after, a minute or so I suppose. I guess I was getting old if that caused me to black out. I look out at Crowley’s meat suit, still perfect after all these years, if dead. 

“ _ Hello darling. I’ve just been saying goodbye to my old apartment.”  _ I chuckle a bit at his wit, I have to. “ _ Your turn darling, because it’s time to move out Rebecca. _ ” I breathe, noticing the ounce of respect. It took 45 years but…

I sigh, feeling whole again for the first time in a long time. Or at least more whole, with the other piece of my soul right here. I feel less though, smaller. I am old, tired. That’s probably all. 

I have control of my body, he gave me that. I had been in and out so many times...I can’t even remember how many times it had been put back together, kept safe while I was away. It is barely mine, less my body and more a thing I inhabit. I look around the room once and nod. I’m done, the longer I put it off the more painfully emotional the change will be. Better to just rip the bandaid off before I back out like a scared child and I make a fool of myself.

I feel a tug and fly out encased in a slightly glittering red mist as a ball of white. Crowley takes a breath, back in his own body, my prison, and looks at my...husk. Alive, but not me, starting to move and look wildly about, and snaps his fingers. I feel nothing as I watch my old body claw at their chest, then die of cardiac arrest. 

“Well, now that demolition is done, we have work to do.” I quietly agree to my fate, not that I have much choice. I do however, regret not being able to finish that book. Crowley pauses, and looks at the book in my lap. He sighs and with a wave it’s gone. A small kindness, or perhaps curiosity as he is now as far along in the book as I am. 

Still, I lasted a lot longer than I thought I could in a game with the King of Hell. I wonder how much more time I have.

“A year at most, or...Forever.” At this I pause my self evaluation. What could he mean? I was sure by this time that all the trouble I had put him through, he would just torture me, until I was slowly pulled apart. Use me as an emotional high. Not….keep me around and active. “I have a contract with you. I have absolutely no idea, for once, what will happen if I let you dissolve away. Would you still be there, would it count as death? Would it cancel the contract?” I can already hear him slipping slightly into my manner of speech, to annoy me, put me off guard. It still sounds wrong coming from his mouth. “So. Let’s have a test, and pick out your bunk mate. But first...we have two items of pleasure to discuss.” He thinks a quick thought and we are gone, walking on a beach. I wonder at his reasons, it couldn’t just be that he wanted to test something. I doubted he could care less if my contract was voided by either of us now. 

“Oh no. I’m not letting your soul escape to heaven to be interrogated by poncy rats with wings.” Ah. Right, his secret. “Darling, you don’t know the half of it. You’re home now, you couldn’t betray me if you tried. You may ask questions.” Questions? About what? I know my fate. 

“But do you know your Use? Why you are valuable?” I thought it was because I was your toy. Was there more? “Darling, as long as you’re here, and I have another part of you somewhere, I can’t die. Remember?” Memories flood me. Right! I still didn’t know how that worked, how we survived those first attacks. Was I going to find out, more than three decades later?

“Yes. I’m a benevolent landlord.” No. There is a reason he is telling me. There always is. I can feel his satisfaction that I know this as he speaks. 

“When I’m pulled to the Empty, you’re pulled to Hell, or Heaven...but only after you have all your pieces.” The piece he has now. So he is no longer immortal?

“No. Because it is ‘pieces’. Try plural darling. I have the biggest piece, but I was busy walking around playing that game on your phone, depositing pieces of you around in little angel proof boxes. Before you go anywhere, you need them, and where you go...I go.” I am ...Confused and overwhelmed. Did he create a fucking horcrux? He blinks, pauses and shrugs, nodding.

“That little ball of light overrides everything in its need to be whole. It actually would take energy to keep you here if you hadn’t signed something saying I own all the pieces.” I fall back into my place in the smoke and I ponder this. Souls. Souls are the most powerful thing? Untouched pure human souls? “Why do you think creatures eat them? Consume the energy they put out? They have unimaginable potential.” But...it’s never been broken apart before? I can feel the little bits of energy glittering in his smoke, roiling and being thrown around in internal winds. Pieces of me. 

“No. Feeding off the energy a soul gives off until it is weak, doesn’t destroy the soul, just renders it useless for a while. Consuming the entire soul, still leaves a spark that with time will regrow. To my knowledge only God can destroy a soul.” So that’s why I was back before I died naturally, he had a piece of me. One that was, maybe sill is, slowly being consumed by him. He was tired of trying to not destroy me, breaking the piece he had into small sparks of light that if I died wouldn’t be the first piece I went to… or wouldn’t bring him to me. He smiles and sips a drink he suddenly has in his hand. “You’ve opened up an entirely new use for souls. One I intend to keep entirely to myself.” So this is the secret. Not the contract, but the fact that it explained that souls could be broken apart and used to keep him on this plane of existence. If I told anyone about the contract, they could eventually figure this out. 

I had been attacked by angels a couple more times over the years. Trying to find out what my involvement was. They didn’t stop after I hanged myself… no.

Of course the guards were there, and there were two snipers now. There would be a bullet, and off my soul would fly to find its missing pieces… the ones Crowley owned. The ones I now knew were scattered across the earth and probably Hell, the reason I don’t stay out for the hellhound to collect. 

He had mentioned, casually, on more than one occasion he always enjoyed when I ‘came back home.’ That little ball of light that fluttered in front of him. He always told anyone in the room to get out when he saw my soul being carried in by a hound. Perhaps because close physical examination would show I was missing parts. Perhaps because of the high I apparently gave him. Perhaps because he liked privacy.

Every time was the same. He’d look at me, eyes blank, for a long time, and then smile a small tight smile. 

“Hello Chew Toy. Miss me?” And he’d open his mouth and I’d rush into the prison I’d unwittingly written with my own hands, the prison where my Biggest other piece lay. Waiting. Slowly dissolving. “Lovely to have you back, I felt so empty without you. Now, sit back and wait, I’ll play with you later.” And he would. Play with me that is. Or more accurately enjoy the high he got from my emotional reactions to his job or my memories. 

No matter how long the wait, eventually a demon would show up with my body; always inhabiting it, strict rule. Only way to make sure someone not on the guard didn’t try to find out his secrets. However any demon involved with attacks on me was usually...fired quietly anyway. They all knew it, they knew there was a secret, a spoiler. And with his new army made of fans, of artists, well they wanted to know. Even if knowing for a brief second meant death. It was an honor, a limited time offer, something to lord over the other’s until Crowley took them aside and did the most horrifying thing imaginable. 

No one but I knew about this. And when I was in my body, I didn’t remember. It was the one thing Crowley wiped from my memory. He stashed hex bags around the house. I knew he did, he told me. ‘For my own protection.’ It was a half truth, but I didn’t dare fight him on it. 

The demons thought they died, they were wrong. I had designed it, even if it was unwittingly. He had come to me one day, asking me to fulfil my contract, to advise him. I tried. I thought I failed. I was wrong. I succeeded more than I ever thought possible. He came to me asking for a solution to having to kill his guards each time I returned to him from an angel attack. I thought, long and hard. The only things I could think of was trapping them, or turning them human. Then using some sort of spell to wipe their memory after they got a meatsuit. He frowned. Said it wouldn’t work, a soul needed it’s original body for a spell like that to work. Perhaps that was a lie but he punished me for my failure, and sent me on my way.

I thought that was that, until the next time I died. 

No one knew about the kidnapped church goers filling syringes of blood. No one knew about the hours of purification, or the secret cupboard in his room that held jars upon jars of cured demon souls. I had no clue what they were for, just that it was easier to do the ritual with my soul covering his. Now, today, on the last day of my official life...after this conversation...I had a feeling that was an emergency stash...or what he would start with until current deals came to fruition. There were already a few souls in there when I saw it for the first time. In what could be considered a quartz aquarium. They swam happily about with each other. I wondered if this was the stash he had talked about on the show, the one that was raided. He put that notion out of my head quickly. Different stash, different hiding place; besides it had nothing to do with my situation. 

He could only have one deal of my type at a time. If he had two...his soul would be pulled apart when the pieces of his signer’s souls pulled him in two directions, both trying to get home. At least, that’s what he, and I, surmise. So until I died, he had waited, wary to do another contract. I would have tried to convince him to just kill me, to take another contract. It was dangerous for him to just have me, while I was so well known. 

However I knew he wouldn’t listen, and it was one last chance for him to be killed. He knew my thoughts on this. Of course he did. He ignored them. For some reason, some stupid reason, I was just important enough to risk this operation on. More likely, he had a back up plan or had me too well guarded. 

So he collected and purified demon souls so he could have one to...in his words, enjoy for lunch, while he waited for his first contract with a human to end. So I watched this torment happen, every time I was forced to flee to him, while I waited for my body. While I wondered why the first soul to die wouldn’t be me. 

“Not you darling.”

The words bring me back from my mental spiral inside my prison. Moonlight hits the ocean and the waves rush up to meet us. It’s quiet, a juxtaposition from my mental turmoil. Crowley sighs, enjoying the feeling of unsettled peace. 

“See. I’ve put too much work into training you. I play you like a finely tuned piano. I know what buttons to press, what places to prod. I don’t want to learn that all over for someone else. So you're my favorite toy until you become numb to it all, which you won’t, I know you.” 

And now I understand. He is right. I’m not special. I am seasoned and peppered with the emotions of a tormented but full life. 

I am broken in. 

“Of course you’re special, you were my first. I popped my soul like a cherry with you.” He kicks a rock into the waves and I wonder if the ocean would hurt him. He chuckles. 

“Not anymore darling. Thanks to you. However if you stay there, every day, I’ll tire quickly trying to concentrate on not picking away at you morsel by morsel. If you have a bunk mate, I can pick away at them however fast I want. I’ll enjoy their emotions occasionally before...” He stops, leaving the obvious unsaid, but I still shiver in fear nonetheless. “I know you wanted a monogamous relationship, so I’m sorry, but I’ll always come back to you Chew Toy.” He continues walking, a soft stroll along the beach. Meandering, waiting for me to settle in. “Besides, I made a deal with you, you're supposed to create for me. I believe you might find that difficult if you’re just another five pounds on my red waistline.” I couldn’t say I am happy, but... I have a feeling. A small glimmer of hope, that he actually still wants me to create things for him. He could be lying, but this close to him… I doubted it. It didn’t feel like a lie. Of course...if I ever stopped being interesting…

He doesn’t respond, he doesn’t feel or think. I have no idea if being interesting is as important as being broken in...

However, that meant, if he didn’t want to eat me, he’d need a steady yearly supply of souls, forever. And I’d be there. Forever. Is this really my choice... watching other souls die or possible complete obliteration from a year of miasmic mastication?

“You’re mine darling. One way in, no way out. Just like Hell is supposed to be.”

King of Hell, a walking portable Hell in and of himself. 

“That’s the idea. You really can take it with you. Well, I can.”

So, immortality and more. One soul at a time. Welcome to Hell; entrance fee, one kiss. He nods, and takes one more look at the ocean. 

“Now.” We arrive at the hidden cupboard, I cringe, falling back into corners as far as I can...but he’s everywhere. He flicks his hand and the painting moves aside, flicks again and the door opens, a myriad of symbols on the inside. Lines of shelves with souls struggling for freedom they would never get. He picks up one. 

“Hello Stan. Time to come home, your original contract belonged to me after all.” He opens the jar with a twist and the soul floats, confused. It has no body. It can’t go to Heaven, it has a contract with Hell. It should be guided to the wracks but instead… The King of Hell beckons, and the soul finds a new home. I feel it, beside me, for only a moment, an eternity. I know everything this man has done, when he was alive, when he was a demon. It hurts, I really don’t want to know. It’s too much. It’s far too much. Too much. Too much.

Then he’s gone. Crowley shakes his head.

“Looks like you’ll need seperate bedrooms.” He adjusts himself, stands still, accounting for everything he just did and how it makes him feel. 

Wanting. It left him wanting. 

A demon soul, turned human. Sitting in a jar for….10 plus years? It was dull. Tainted. Bland. The only emotions were the negative ones he already saw daily in the pit. Confusion and regret are bedfellows down there, and even they seemed numbed by the imprisonment the soul went through. He sighs, and looks at the remaining 12 jars. 

I panic. He couldn’t be thinking...Right off the bat? What if it’s too much? 

“Where’s your sense of adventure Chew Toy?” He snaps and the lids of 5 jars vanish, sending the white balls of light into the air. They fly, circling like confused drunk butterflies until, “Come home darlings.” 

The light is blinding, painful, burning. I have no space. There is eternity, and I can’t think. 

Then, just like that, they are gone, at least for me. I have no idea how. I shiver, vibrate. Confused as to how or why Crowley would want these souls without a contract if they are so dulled. He couldn’t pick them apart without -

“Of course I can. First of all I do own the souls, any demon on your guard team has to sign a contract with me. Demons can’t be the recipient of a contract, they are already bound to Hell, so to them it didn’t mean a thing.” He picks up one of the jars with a soul in it and looks at the light wiggling around frantically. I wonder if they saw what happened, or if there is an enchantment on the jars, or if they are too panicked and insane from their confinement to notice. Crowley continues his exposition, the information meant purely to torture me with knowledge of the horror I had helped create. “Now that they are human, those contracts matter. Secondly, the contract I have with you allows me to pick apart a perfectly normal human soul… these...They are the sloppy joe’s of souls, soul food if you will. Falling apart from the loneliness and one too many changes, they are easy to pick apart to the last morsel.” He pauses thinking “...I’ll need to add a year long cap to the tenancy-in-common clause so the freeheld property clause can kick in in tangent to a new tenancy-in-common clause in subsection B...I should be able to fast track the process, avoid the long winding road I went through with your contract.” So wait...he couldn’t just dissolve me? “Darling, for once...you’re wrong. I could let you wither away like a child star...degrading until nothing but a single white coal is left… barely able to think let alone feel emotion. However, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I appreciate your company too much to do that.” Bullshit, you appreciate the high I give you. “Why not both?”

The cabinet door closes in front of us, I hear a lock, and with a wave the painting is hung in front of it again. Crowley, once again, pauses, taking... I guess it could be called inventory now. 

“Well, it’s a suitable substitute.” He looks to another cupboard, also lined with runes that prevent anything inside from being taken away, and ponders. He snaps...nothing happens. He tries again. Nothing. On the third try the cupboard cracks.

“Bollocks.” He sighs and walks over, opening the cracked front door and taking out his favorite bourbon. He frowns at the cupboard and snaps, and it’s whole again. 

“Well, progress at least.” Really, keeping your liquor in a warded cabinet?

“It’s my most expensive liquor. Special occasions only.” He looks at the bottle, and we are at his desk, with a stack of papers and the bottle beside us. “Let’s see who wants to renew their ten year contracts. Then look at the prospectives.”


	19. The Bunker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which new allies are met, and old frenemies lost.
> 
> Warning, explicit torture.

It’s August, more than a few years later, and we are in his private collection retrieving a dragon heart. I, we are surrounded by so many interesting objects, and I am not going to get the chance to look through them at all. 

“No. You aren’t.” He goes to a box and takes out a very shriveled heart...that is ten times too big for a human. A dragon heart. There is no way that could have been human, or fit in a human chest.

“Darling, the dragons here today, bastards of an extinct race.” He picks up the heart in two hands, and despite being dead, it is very warm. “Top condition.” He puts it back and is about to leave when he does a double take to a shelf. Something is missing, I can feel the thought before he can hide it. “Bollocks.” He goes over and looks behind some other objects and frowns. Whatever he is looking for, is not there. “Bollocks!”

What? “A book. A very important book.” Book of the damned powerful? “Yes! But not magic, information.” Yeah. That shit could be dangerous. Crowley rolls his eyes and puts the box down. Apparently this took precedence over a contract with a warlock. With a thought he steps with one foot into the veil, and out with the other into…

“Nevada.” Everywhere we look is literally flat nothing. Isn’t Burning Man close to here? “No. Now, give me a moment.” He checks his coat, he checks his pistol, he checks his blades. Twice. I am now officially nervous. “I know this is the last thing you want to hear from me, or a doctor, but relax.” 

I’m thrown out from my secluded red prison and into his body, a very weird feeling, but I am distracted from that as Crowley once again pushes himself into my soul, using it as a curtain to protect him. He settles in, as if I am nothing more than a pair of old cotton pajamas. “Darling, I don’t wear cotton. You’re at least silk, if a low thread count.” He hadn’t done this for a bit, worn me, and he had rarely did it in his own body... we weren’t at that stage of ‘our relationship’ yet. Wherever we are going must be dangerous. 

“Very.” Crowley makes his way across the empty flat desert until… we walk in more empty flat desert. The sand feels like tiny diamonds against our skin as the wind whips them past. It neither howls nor whistles, this wind. It moans, hollow and slight and empty, across a land that resembles the sound it makes. I barely notice. I have been distracted by the fact that I’m in a male body, as in settled in and would be able to walk around if Crowley hadn’t been there. It’s very odd, and I really don’t know how to feel about it. I am sweating, it‘s hot, I am thirsty, feel sluggish, and too many things are sticky. Downside of controlling a body through a human soul, all the human things started to happen again. However, the body...definitely feels off for more than the reason than it’s male and I’m female. Or the fact that I had seen this body on screen. No...this body had been Dead until I was pushed into it a moment ago. It was true Crowley kept his meatsuits in good condition; no wounds, working order, no visible injuries, but it had been dead, I think? I am sorely confused.

“Darling. Magic and...DEMON. Don’t overthink it, you’ll hurt my brain. Now shut Up.”

Crowley looks around and with a snap a square outline appears in the ground for a moment before the lid swings open to reveal stairs. Without hesitation he walks down into the darkness of the dusty hole in the ground. After a few steps the darkness becomes absolute as the door swings closed by itself. This did not seem good. 

Crowley ignores me and keeps walking and within a few more steps the hallway lights up, and that’s when I see it. The familiar symbol. 

The Men of Letters. 

But we weren’t in Kansas. 

“Toto, Moose wasn’t an idiot. He rarely listed the actual location of anything in his journals. If he mentioned names he never mentioned where, if he mentioned where he never mentioned names. Moose wasn’t an idiot when it came to anything other than family. But, well, family makes you an idiot.” We walk during this rant, down and down. Spiraling. I can’t help but feel tense, even afraid. The enclosed space and sandy walls were too similar to many of the HP Lovecraft stories I read. Ironically Crowley made me feel safer. Not just because he wasn’t about to die, but because he would know if there was something like that; Hell, he would have dealings with it. 

Crowley is not amused with my thoughts. He should be the scariest thing I knew. Sorry Crowley, but the unknown is more terrifying than anything until you can accept it. I may not know what you will do at any given moment, but I know you…and you know a lot; on occasion that is comforting. 

Crowley stays silent at my mental comments and moves on, into the deep. The coldness and slight ache you feel when the room should be damp or dark, when the atmosphere and ambience demand it, but it isn’t. It creates a dissonance, uncomfortable and distracting. Probably the point here. We keep walking and soon the light changes from torchlight to a more electric kind...and we hear a voice. Crowley pauses, and the voice does too after a few moments, then returns with more clarity than it has the right to. 

“Please do come down Crowley. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Bollocks.” Crowley keeps walking and pauses before a closed wooden door. The door is old and worn, but the familiar symbol shines in gold as if freshly polished. Crowley stands there and thinks a moment before asking a question to the ether that is apparently very attentive. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, happen to have one of those pulse generators on the other side, would you?”

“I guess you’ll have to come in and see.” Crowley rolls his eyes and I tense up. British Men of Letters. I thought they left. Crowley doesn’t respond, he doesn’t want to give them any information they could use. He snaps and the door opens to reveal the bunker, and three well dressed older men, one woman, and a middle aged man with short black hair. “Good to see you Crowley.” Says the one sitting to the left at the large central table. His hair is gray and his mustache is curled. He looks every bit a dapper gentleman. 

“Donachev. To what do I owe the pleasure? No one has broken our deal I assume?”

“No, no. Nothing so dramatic.” Crowley leans in and looks at the ceiling, then the floor. No traps. He takes a step in, hands in pockets and heads toward the central table. “We have been-“ Donachev stops talking as Crowley vanishes. They frantically look around for a moment before...

“Here gents.” We both stand by the liquor, of course, as Crowley picks up a decanter and opens it. He takes a sniff and curls his nose. “I was just hoping with your arrival you might have brought something resembling class to their refreshments.” He sets the decanter down. 

“No, but it’s nice to see you haven’t changed.” There is a click and a light turns on overhead. Crowley looks up at the very small light and the strange device in front of it, then down at the perfect shadow of a devil’s trap. Crowley sighs and rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time that day. 

“Right down to business. So, what can I do for you?”

“No, this is about what you’ve been doing Crowley. Not your demons, you personally.” Crowley looks at the group with something resembling interest, but inside I can feel nervous energy. He is going over all the things they might do to him to try to find out what is going on, and possible ways to utilize each procedure. Possible vices the men have, possible deals he could make. 

I am just watching and waiting for more information. I don’t like these people. I don’t know why. They just seem like cunts. Crowley raises his brows, his only sign of amusement or agreement with my thoughts, a reaction also suitable to what had just been said out loud. 

“Ah, so you heard about that.” There is silence. 

“Please, elaborate on what you think we’ve heard.” 

Crowley sighs and puts his hands back in his pockets. 

“That I’m just a bit harder to kill these days.” In a flash he takes the gun out and shoots up. There is a sound of breaking glass and a flash of gold from the middle aged man before a loud screech and pressure fills the air. Pain courses through both of us. Crowley doesn’t fight it, and flies out of his vessel and deeper into the bunker. I hear cursing. 

“Find him!”

“Did you see his color? It’s true!”

“Did you see the glitter, the white orbs?”

“Put a protection circle around his body!”

“Where was the intel that he was a sharp shooter?!”

The voices fade as he flies deeper into the bunker. He is pissed. I am concerned and thoughtful. They couldn’t harm him in his smoke form...so why would they exorcise him? 

“ _ To see my smoke form. I’m already the only demon with red smoke. Now they also know I’m bigger, glitter like Edward Cullen, and have two white orbs with me. Not the best situation.”  _ Well, what can you do in this form, besides possess things? I can feel the mix of frustration and glee as he flies through the halls. We turn a corner quickly and ram into a wall, which cracks under the force. Oh. Ok then. Then why don’t demons fight like this?

_ “Because one demon alone can’t do much damage _ .” Yeah, but you’re not one demon anymore Crowley. You’re one plus all the souls you’ve taken, and then two more right here.

We round another corner and fly through a vent to emerge in the kitchen. One of the older men is in there and Crowley dives toward him…

“Abantji!” The sound of the spell echoes as we hit a wall of force and bounce back. Crowley writhes in rage as he flies into the kitchen implements, knocking them from the shelf, before heading back into the vent. He flies through the smaller airspace until we hear something besides the shouting. 

Muffled cries and curses. 

He flies toward the sound to emerge in the hated room where he was kept so many times. In the center of the trap are three people tied together on the ground. 

Hunters. 

Crowley flies out and circles them. 

They are dressed as all American hunters are. Older clothes, slightly wrinkled, boots that have been scuffed and run through mud and water and blood. One is wearing flannel. A Winchester?

“ _ Darling, no _ .” 

The hunters freak as the smoke pours in.

“What the fuck!?”

“Demon! Shit shit shit.”

“The Hell are the Men of Letters playing at?”

“Wait! Wait! I remember something about this one! This is Crowley! He’s red! The King of Hell who helped the Winchester’s save the world once.”

“ _ More than once. But I’m not keeping track.”  _ I chuckle. He wasn’t wrong. He also helped them break it on more than one occasion. “ _ Details.”  _

“Why is he here?”

“I think the Men of Letter dicks from England want something with him.”

“That’s probably not good. For anyone.” Crowley circles them and rams into the rack of torture tools, hard, sending some flying. “Looks like he agrees.” One of the tools, a scalpel, has fallen close to the hunters but not inside the circle. Crowley sees it at the same time the hunters do and he sweeps towards it. 

“Shit shit shit!” His smoke encircles the implement that is supposed to be used to heal and throws it at the hunters, end over end, into the circle. Within reach. 

“Oh.” One of them reaches for it as we hear footsteps and Crowley rushes back into the vent. We can hear the voices as we circulate out of sight. The hidden doors open as his last wisp enters the vent once more. 

“Did you see a demon come in here?” It was the middle aged one. He looks back and forth frantically as he voices his question to the annoyed hunters. 

“What? Why the fuck would a demon be in here?” Says the eldest hunter with a scraggly beard. 

“And why would we tell you?” Asks the female one. 

“Because it is a new species that if not catalogued and studied could destroy us!” The hunters look at each other for a second then laugh. 

“Right bud. Cuz new things that powerful just come into existence all the freakin time!”

“Next you're gonna tell me there is a new breed of werewolf!”

The middle aged Man of Letters snarls in disgust and leaves, closing the door behind him. The hunters look back and forth at each other and the one in the flannel pulls the scalpel out from under his butt. 

“Go George. Hurry.” Crowley waits for them to cut the bindings and listens to the echoes of enemy voices in the vents. 

“Where is he?”

“Check the Winchester’s rooms, they could have left him something!”

“Turn on the vent cleaning system! Order number 25! I’ll make sure the salt intake is full!” Time to go. 

We exit the vents as a whirring starts his smoke stings ever so slightly. 

“He’s back. Watch out.” Says the female hunter.

“Is he a new species?”

“Dude, he’s like 300 according to Sam and online wikis so, no, he’s not freakin new.” Says the youngest.

“Look at those orbs. What are they?” Says the woman. Crowley circles and waits, listening to the questions and plotting. I think this is an opportunity. Save them, with no ill effects, and you may have new potential allies. 

“ _ I’m planning on taking a meat suit, if their soul touches any of the others, including you, for even a second, they will know too much.”  _ Crowley. Take a fucking piece of me and drop my soul, then- I don’t finish the thought as the hunters stand and shake free of the rope. They stay in the circle, watching Crowley circle them, a concentric symbol of danger. 

“He’s gonna possess one of us.” Says the older male.

“Duh.” says the woman as Crowley just flies around the room, looking for something. 

“He could help.” Says the youngest male.

“Yeah, but whoever he possessed isn’t coming back alive.” Silence follows the female’s comment. Crowley can’t find whatever he is looking for and is getting agitated. I wonder if the hunters could understand me if they held my soul… that could break the stalemate. Crowley shifts in the air and I feel a ripping sensation; once again a part of me is taken away. As I am dropped to the floor Crowley whispers a threat. 

“ _ Betray me Chew Toy…”  _ there are more lives at stake than just his, or mine. These three hunters would not stand up against the British Men of Letters. Not for a second. With Crowley, they have a chance. 

“What the?” I float a bit, then start to head toward my closest missing piece, but the one named George grabs me. 

“What is it?”

“Dunno, hey, he’s leavin’!”

“ _ George!” _

“What the fuck!?”

“What?”

“It talked to me Dan!”

“ _ Jesus fucking Christ George we don’t have time for this. Crowley can help. He will let you go after. His preferred body is upstairs and the Men of Letter dickfucks have it. But he needs a body for now. You have a common enemy.” _

“What are you?”

“ _ I’m a soul George, I-“  _ Crowley returns then and circles the group, the other soul still with him but barely being held onto. “ _ Choose George!”  _

“The Hell is goin on George?” Dan looks at the younger hunter as he regards me. 

“I think the demon will help.”

“George! Fucking no-“ But George has stepped out of the circle, and Crowley steps into George. 

There is the sound of two cracks as Crowley stretches his new neck. He holds me in his hand and then looks around the room again. 

“Ah.” He goes and grabs the other white floating orb in the air. He turns and looks at the two hunters, and speaks in George’s voice, with his own mannerisms. “Either of you put jars in here? Filled with holy water perhaps?”

“Y-yeah? Why?” 

“To hold a few souls. Now, where?” The one called Dan tentatively points at the cabinet to the right, very old and would have definitely broken if Crowley had tried to search it. With a wave the door opens and rows upon rows of jars filled with clear water are revealed. Crowley sneers and two of the jars appear on the ground next to the circle. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind emptying those, in a dark corner on ground, not me.” 

“Why?”

“We don’t Really have time for questions here. Do you want me at my best, or do you want your friend, and all of you, to die?” The hunters look at each other and Dan reaches out of the circle and empties the jars by tossing their contents into the corner behind him. Crowley watches as he places them down, quickly pulling his arms back in. 

“Good job, A plus effort.” Crowley drops the other soul into the jar and with a wave it closes and vanishes. Then he looks at me. “Sorry Chew Toy, but if you want this to work out like you said, you need to come home.” Crowley focuses and his smoke gathers at his new mouth, and slowly light appears there. 

“What-what are-“ Crowley ignores him and blows George’s soul into the jar. He picks it up and with a thought it closes. He holds it out to 

“Dan, George. I believe you’ve met.”

“What, I-“

“Calm gentlemen. Here, you can even have him in a moment. Don’t let him out unless you want him to die.” Crowley looks at me and with a wave I’m down back in the red smoke. Pain fills me as I am once again pushed into a body as he pushes into my soul. The shower curtain called Chew Toy. I yell at him to stop, if I used the man’s brain to control him, my memories could- “Not how it works Chew Toy, but good thought.” He finishes the process and then sighs. Enjoying the feeling of the world through my soul. He likes this, he just didn’t like to do it in his own meat suit too too often, not without reason. That was his. Here, in someone else’s body… well. I hope this preference stays that way, if he ever stopped minding about that it would be horrible for me. ...I should not have thought that when he is listening. I can hear his intrigue for a second before he comes back to the present situation. 

He looks at the jar for a second, contemplating doublecrosses, but decides to play the long game and tosses the jar to Dan. The hunters stare. 

“One more moment.” He looks at the jars of holy water and with a thought one is in his hand, he opens it and with a snap the piece of my soul he had torn off before flies into the jar, which he closes tightly before waving it off somewhere, probably to a shelf with a hundred other specimens. He looks at the other hunters and nods. 

“So, either of you? Contract for healing all the nasty wounds you might-”

“Hell no!”

“Just a thought. Now, put George somewhere safe and let’s set a trap shall we?”

“How do we know you’ll help us?”

“How do I know you won’t betray me? Mutually assured destruction. Also, don’t you agree that the British Men of Letters are pompous self righteous excuses for humans?”

“Yeah, but after we win...what then? How do we know you won’t kill us?” Says the third hunter, Samantha, much to Crowley's amusement, or perhaps annoyance. 

“I suppose you don’t, but I want my body back.” 

“Yeah, you do seem to like one body above others don’t you.” Crowley blinks. 

“And you’re sure of this how? In fact, I wasn’t aware Sam left any writings on the matter of me here.” That Crowley had left behind. The hunter named Dan scoffs as he scratches a hole in the devil’s trap. 

“Dude, you know there is a whole show right?” Crowley cocks his head as if surprised. 

“Really? Do tell.”

“Yeah, standard trainin for hunters today. All fifteen fuckin seasons. It ain’t accurate on everythin, but some of it, how things look, even a few names, spot on. Don’t know how, but hey, it’s fun.”

“Must be a fun...month of binge watching. I-“ Crowley pauses. He can hear voices, getting closer. “Tie us up, and get back in the circle; quickly they are coming.”

“You can-“ 

“Stop talking, and do.” 

“But they will have holy-“

“I am aware. Now, tie me up, and please, be rough.”

Soon we are all sitting in the center, Crowley’s leg over the scratch mark in the trap as we hear the door open. Last second Crowley glances up and frowns at the shining beacon that is George in the cupboard. With a jerk of his head the jar vanishes and then the door closes just as the entire procession that greeted us comes in. A close call. The group looks down at the hunters with the same disgust Crowley reserves for anyone not worth his time. The hunters return the look with venom laced glares. The one named Donachev speaks. 

“We have searched the bunker top to bottom. The demon we are after is nowhere to be found. That means, he is in one of you.”

“Right. Cuz he would come into the trap.” Says Samantha scoffing. Donachev frowns and looks to the cupboard to the right. The hunters tense for a second and I laugh silently. Oh, this is going to be fun. 

“Test us. We’re all fucking clean.” Says Crowley in George’s voice. 

“I plan to. Stanley?” The middle aged man goes to the cupboard and opens it, the hunter’s eyes on him. They relax when they see that George isn’t in there. Stanley grabs a bottle and with the most expressionless face I have ever seen, unscrews it, and throws the contents over all of us. Crowley screams. 

“Ow. Ow. Oh my god it burns!” It hurt of course but there is no smoke or burning and, Crowley doesn’t really care that much. He looks up at Stanley, sarcastic annoyance plastered on his face. “I hate being wet.” The hunters all stare at Crowley, this is impossible. 

But they don’t say anything. The Men of Letters look at each other, it didn’t matter what type of demon you were, holy water worked. They turn to leave... 

And the sound of a snapping finger fills the air. 

Everyone freezes; and then many things happen at once. 

Two of the men just drop as their necks break. The ropes fall as Dan pulls the slipknot loose. Two of the elders turn as Crowley and the hunters stand up. Stanley readies for combat with some odd stance. Donachev still faces the door.

“Hello again Donachev,-” says Crowley in his own voice. 

“Apperi!” Donachev says a word and there is a flash of light, and the sound of footsteps. Crowley curses and the door to the prison slams shut with a thought from him. Stanley reaches for something and is thrown against the wall with a wave, unconscious. There is quiet. 

“Alep-“

“Ah-ah!” Scolds Crowley and the other man clutches his throat. The woman starts to move and Dan rushes her.

“Ataranu!” Dan freezes in place and his face starts to turn blue.

“Release Eric or-“ she is interrupted by a snap followed by a cracking sound as she falls to the floor as well. The remaining man scratches at his throat for a moment before Crowley flicks his hand and his neck snaps too. Seems to be the theme of the day. Crowley looks at Stanley and then to Samantha.

“Tie him. Bind his hands, fingers, and feet, then duct tape his eyes and mouth shut.”

“His eyes?”

“Yes! Magic!” Crowley snaps and tries to teleport, but the wards are up, that means no one else can bamf out either. He looks at Dan who is catching his breath. “Dan. Go guard the front door. Take Stanley’s gun. I’m going to find my old friend.”

“Friend?!”

“Business acquaintance with whom I am no longer doing business.” Crowley walks out of the prison and quickly toward his goal. He listens as he goes but no echo of running is nearby. He reaches the main hall and beelines towards his body. He grabs his gun from the table as he passes, and shoots at the floor near his body, breaking the circle around it. He drops his gun and with a thought the two jars with souls appear on the ground. 

He doesn’t sit down or pause; midstep he leaves George and rushes towards his meatsuit, bringing me with. The first sound he hears is the sound of George’s body hitting the floor. He stands, and while he maneuvers into the shower curtain strategy, that’s what I’m calling it, he waves his hand and both jars open. George’s immediately rushes to his meatsuit which was in the process of sitting up. The other, Crowley motions to and it flies where its contract demands.

“So that’s your ploy.” Crowley looks to the left as he swallows and Donachev is standing there, holding a rather dangerous looking gun. Crowley sighs and looks to George who is dazedly still trying to stand up.

“Stay down pet. Daddy has some business to take care of.” George shakes his head, still a bit confused, but listens. 

“So you’re going the insane angel route?” Crowley looks affronted at Donachev’s comment.

“No. Too much at once, if the angel couldn’t handle it, leviathans or no, I’m not trying it. It’s idiotic.” 

“But that’s where you get your powers from, the immunity from holy water.”

“Oh, that and so much more.” Crowley narrows his eyes and begins to walk forward. “You...just heard rumors that I was immortal, nothing else didn’t you? From where? My demons? An angel? No…” Donachev takes a step back as Crowley continues his walk forward. Crowley pauses as he hears Dan slowly walking up the hallway behind us, barely making a sound, then looks to George as if he had heard him move. Donachev immediately trains the gun on him. Crowley frowns. “Touch him, or any of the hunters here, and I will have your living head on a pike as a dining room decoration. Vlad Tepesh vogue. This is between us and-”

“So, you care for them…”

“What? No. But I like them better than you. Which still isn’t saying much.” Crowley raises a hand, and Donachev shoots. 

The sound of the gun reverberates like a song instead of a bullet and Crowley crumples to the ground. The pain is immense, and strange. It doesn’t burn or hurt like anything holy, or sting like salt, no it just feels heavy, as if he can’t move. 

Which he can’t.

“Devil’s trap bullets… I see you took a page from the Winchesters.”

“No, it’s far worse than that. Blood magic and verse, Crowley. Oldest magic.”

“You...didn’t exactly incant anything there.” Crowley rolls on the ground, trying to reach the wound to pull out the bullet. Instead he gets shot again. The shot once again echoes with a sound like a song instead of a gun. “...Ah. The gun does it for you. Sped up I suppose? Brilliant. It means I don’t have to hear you sing.” He coughs, and sour tasting blood covers his teeth. Some of it pools on the floor and Crowley begins to reach for it. There is another gunshot, songshot, but it doesn’t hit us. There is a scream and Crowley snarls.

“Bastard.” Donachev stands above us, gun in hand. Crowley looks up at the elder’s face.

“So...you claim not to care…”

“They were Mine! We had a Deal! You and I had a deal!” 

“It didn’t say anything about leaving you alone in the states.” Crowley grins.

“Spoken like a true demon.” Donachev sneers and brandishes the pistol again, ready to shoot. “I only need your meatsuit to hold you, not be compl-” He pauses, and spins toward the hall we came from. There is the sound of another songshot and a cry followed by a thud and groan. “Well, they seem keen enough to help you.”

“No, they just hate you that much; we all bonded over a strong mutual dislike. We had hats, and a speech. The ‘British Men of Letters are Ponces’ club. The introductory ceremony was beautiful and-” Crowley is babbling, talking for no reason other than that the sound of his voice punctuated by coughs and muddled with blood would be distracting and reassuring to his attacker. Donachev is ignoring him, thinking that Crowley is just attempting to distract him from what should be a third attack from the last hunter. He was close. 

Crowley is the son of a witch, and had hung around with the Winchesters for 7 some years. He was quite an artist when it came to blood, especially relating to symbols that could cause pain. 

“The band was lovely, bone flutes. Samantha danced on an effigy of your face Donachev. I won’t speak of what I did to it, your delicate sensibilities might have you faint from shock.”

“Oh do shut up Crowley, I-”

“Just one more word.” Donachev pauses, then looks down. Crowley’s hand is over an odd symbol, and he smiles. “Darelania-takovenaja.” Donachev yells in pain as burns start to appear all over his skin. He drops the gun and covers his face with his hands, screaming. Crowley uses the time to start to dig the bullets out. Donachev starts whispering in harsh tones to himself, another spell. Crowley curses. He doesn’t have much time. He has been lucky up until now. He and Donachev have a history, I can tell by how they talk to one another. With politeness that barely hides the playfully dangerous venom beneath each word. 

Playtime is over now. The next spell shot at Crowley, will be very painful. And then Donachev would spend years picking him apart atom by atom. 

Crowley has finally gotten one bullet out, the one in his shoulder, when the muttering stops. Crowley sighs and dops the bullet.

“Well, it really was quite fun while it lasted.” Donachev glares, eyes so filled with revulsion even I’m a little taken aback. Crowley, doesn’t care. “C’mon darling, it was a trip down memory lane. How many times were we in similar situations before we struck that Nation Wide deal?”

“Enough that it pains me very little to do this.” He shoots Crowley point blank through the side of his skull. His head is snapped back with the force, and then reels from the weight of the enchantment. 

“...Ow! Rude!” Donachev ignores him and takes out his cell phone. He begins to dial. 

“Hey, buttface!” Both Crowley and Donachev look up; on the balcony stands Samantha, gun pointed at Donachev. “Smile for the camera deadbeat.”

The bang of the gun resounds like a welcome drum after the oddness of the songshot. The cacophony off the sides of the entryway sounds like safety; and when Donachev falls… the sound of his body hitting the floor is like the last beat in a drum solo.

Then Samantha runs down the stairs to George and Dan, dropping the gun on the way.

“George! George! Dan! Are you ok?” Crowley scowls.

“Hey! HEY!”

“What!? You’re fine!”

“Yeah, and I can help!”

“Bullshit!”

“I’m your best chance at them not bleeding out into puddles of-!” Samantha screams in anger but comes to stand over Crowley. “Hello. Got a penknife?” Samantha rolls her eyes and throws a knife down. “I’ll be with you in a moment, darling.” Samantha sighs again and goes back to her friends, not really willing to help the demon more. Crowley quickly digs the bullet in his gut out, the one in his leg, and then starts on the one in his forehead. 

I am nearly catatonic from the pain, so is the other soul. To Crowley, this is a light Friday evening. 

“C’mon Chew Toy, you’ve been through worse. I would know. I put you through it.” Yeah, still fucking hurt. Finally the bullet pops out and Crowley stretches and stands up. He looks down at Donachev, disappointed that such a rivalry had ended...without him killing his opponent. He turns and walks toward the hunters, hands in pockets, curious. He rounds the table and looks down. George is passed out, the bullet having gone through his cheek and almost hitting his spine. Dan...Dan is awake. Unfortunately awake; because the bullet that hit him had gone through his gut. He groans in pain, the magic of the bullet apparently having a more purely agonizing effect on humans than restrictive. Crowley shakes his head.

“Pity.” Samantha turns and glares.

“Pity! PITY! This is your fault!”

“Well, I didn’t exactly pull the trigger, but I am still willing to help.” Crowley wipes some blood off his forehead and looks at the fingers a moment before licking them and shaking them away as if it was just a small scrap. It, in fact is, the wound is already closing. Samantha stares.

“What...are you?”

“King of Hell darling. Has perks. Now, like I said. I’m here to help.”

“You can do a spell?”

“Well, one only works After they are dead, and the other needs a bit of help.” Samantha narrows her eyes. Crowley smiles. “Apparently, it’s standard training to watch the show, so you should know what I’m quoting.” Her eyes widen, finally taking it in now that the action is over.

“You’re….You’re him. Like, actually from the show him.”

“Plain sight darling. Greatest trick the devil ever pulled blah blah. Now…” He waves his hand and the oddest contract I have ever seen appears in the air. It’s less than two pages for one… “Now, in exchange for your occasional assistance, I will provide healing to all three of you, now, and any time you finish a job, especially for me. Sound fair?” Samantha stares.

“And….our souls?”

“Yours….To be re-evaluated in ten years based on the success of our business relationship.” She stares. “We will add their signatures after they wake up. They seem a little...indisposed at the moment.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Darling, there’s a clause for that. It means that if you get injured, in the line of duty, you don’t get healed. Now… Deal?” She looks at him, eyes narrowed. “There is quite the time limit on this deal, and it isn’t imposed by me.” She sighs but nods. “Wonderful, come give uncle Crowley a kiss.”

……………………..

George, Dan, and Samantha sit in the kitchen, drinking. Heavily. Crowley leans against the door with a glass of scotch.

They had all signed, and believed they consigned their souls to Hell. They were actually wrong. Crowley is after something else here, something possibly far more long term than some demons in Hell. He was after better rapport with hunters. If he could do what the British Men of Letters hadn’t, not by providing tools, but by being straight up and healing them on occasion...without souls in the contract. Well maybe they could find an arrangement. If not… he could walk away with nothing in return. Confuse them even more and make a point that he was serious about a partnership. If they really did break the contract, that’s what Hellhounds were for. 

“Fuck. So...10 years?” Dan takes a drink as a chaser for his words, the others follow.

“No, I think it’s… like an employee evaluation…” Says Samantha. Crowley takes a sip and watches as they attempt to figure out their situation. The poor hunters, so confused, overwhelmed. 

“Yeah… one if we fail, we go to Hell.” There is silence and then they all take a drink. Crowley rolls his eyes.

“Actually… It’s, I can’t believe I’m saying this, simpler, than that.” The group turns as one to look at him. 

“Excuse me?” Asks George. Crowley waves his hand and they all wince as the contract appears on their arms...and then on paper on the table. 

“Section 2. Failure is defined as betrayal, or refusal to complete a job. And so you don’t get your tight little knickers in a knot, job is defined as anything requested by me that includes the extermination, or removal of non-humans and creatures that endanger other beings, the rescue of requested persons, etc and on and on. So, in layman's terms…”

“Hunting.” Says Dan anxiously. “But why? Why would you need hunters?” Crowley drains his drink. 

“I don’t… right now. Things change. Besides, I’m sure you’ve noticed that there are far fewer monsters around… which means the remaining ones are a bit smarter than your average bear as it were.”

“Yeah, I had noticed that there were a lot less of the more dangerous things…”

“Your welcome by the way, spread the word.” He walks over and sets the empty glass down as they stare.

“No… You? Got rid of monsters? Bullshit.”

“Rid of them, no. The ones that annoyed me. Well, scouts honor that their remains are decorating my walls.”

“No way you were a scout.” Says Samantha, sneering.

“No, but I ate one once. Stringy.” They all stand up and Crowley holds up his hands. “Great depression hit Everyone hard, also... Demon. Now-”

“Why are you doing this? Being so...nice? To us I mean.” Asks George.

“I’m a kind and benevolent overlord.”

“Yer a demon.” Says Dan through a bottle of beer he had retrieved from the table.

“Like I said; kind... and benevolent... overlord. Now, I’m going to suggest you all go for a beer run, on me… Well on Donachev.” Crowley places a wad of bloody twenties on the table. “I’m going to go ask our mutual friend, a few questions.” The hunters stare.

“And why should we trust you to not wreck the place?”

“I have something very specific, to wreck. So, if you don’t mind screams, the smell of burning flesh, and perhaps some happy sounds, on my part...please, stay. I love an audience.” There is silence. “No takers? Fine, I’ll put the popcorn back. Now... Leave!” 

The hunters frown, but grab the wad of money and head out toward the entrance. Crowley shakes his head and makes his way towards the dungeon. We arrive moments later to see the Man of Letters tied to the chair, head down, just waiting and listening.

“Hello Stanley.” The door is locked behind him, by the fact that Crowley had melted the lock. Crowley did not plan on being disturbed during this playdate. “Now… I could just possess you...but I have a feeling there is an anti possession sigil somewhere underneath all that muscle. Nice toning by the way.” 

Crowley walks around the current object of his ire. His eyes are indeed duct taped shut, as is his mouth. His hands are tied, and his fingers are threaded carefully with rope so he can’t move them. His feet are bound together, by the big toes, and the rope holding those together is tied around the back of the chair and up to his neck. Crowley tilts his head, interested. Apparently Samantha knows a bit about torture. He nods in appreciation, then continues circling. 

“So, you just Happened to be here when I came for something I thought that I left here. I’m beginning to think that isn’t true. So…” Crowley rips the tape off Stanley's mouth. “Care to share?”

Stanley immediately starts muttering something that isn’t English and the energy in the room starts to build. Crowley slams the tape back on and rolls his eyes. He sighs and looks to the left at the torture implements. 

“You know… You Men of Letters, British or American, think you know torture. Think you know pain. You don’t. There are very few humans who know true pain, and those who do…I believe you found out what that means with one Sam Winchester. Physical and mental pain meant nothing to Moose...” Crowley pauses. “I doubt you have that experience. So, tell me a few things and I’ll just kill you.” Crowley snaps and there is a cracking sound and one of Stanley’s fingers breaks. There is the slightest twinge from the man tied to the chair in front of us. “One. How did your little club find out about my new abilities…. Two.” Another snap and a crack. “How much do you know about them? Three…” Snap. Crack. “How did you find out where my private stash is? Four…” Snap. Crack. “How many other people know about it? Five…” Snap. Crack. “How many more of you are here? Six...” Snap. Crack. “How many others know you are here? Seven...” Snap. Crack. “How did you find out about the item you took from me? ...Eight...” Snap. Crack. “...Where... is my journal!?” 

What. You kept a journal?

“Later Chew Toy. Now. Nine.” Snap. Crack. “Is anyone else on their way? And Finally…” Snap. Crack. “ Question 10….How would you prefer I fuck you? With your own miniscule penis after I rip it off and tie it to a stick, or… My preferred method since the other one is so small, with my own...very large… long… beautiful...knife?” There is no sound. Crowley leans over. “Answer these well enough and I’ll wait an hour before I start on your toes… and get my knife.”

  
  


………………………………….

  
  


Every digit was broken. Some, ok a lot, of other bones were fractured as well. That was fairly standard torture, and he had withstood it easily. Crowley expected him to. That was the point. The contradictory feelings of hope that this might be the worst, and the knowledge that it couldn’t be. I didn’t want to watch, but I really didn’t have a choice, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t seen this before. Or worse. Crowley could do so much worse, and had worse done to Him on a regular basis for fun. For pleasure. Occasionally with me there, through it all, to Feel for him.

Either way, breaking bones wasn’t the worst Crowley could do. No. We had only been about half an hour in when all his digits were broken. 

It was five hours later. 

There is no skin left on Stanley's entire right arm. His fingernails have been pulled out, and force fed to him, along with the skin. As a salad. With his tongue for croutons. 

I would have pointed out that he couldn’t answer questions without a tongue...but he had answered the questions around hour 3.

Now he is just dead.

“Humans have no tolerance for pain these days.” Says Crowley as he rips his knife out from a rather personal place. He looks at it, and with a thought it is clean, and then gone as easily as it appeared. The wards didn’t cover objects apparently. 

The problem wasn’t that this was horrifying, no. It was that it wasn’t anymore, it was that I was used to it. That was what was horrifying. I could hate it, be disgusted by it, not want to watch it. ....but, I was used to it. 

And that terrifies me, because this wasn’t something anyone should be able to get used to. So...If I could get used to it... What is the next step?

Crowley looks at the dead Man of Letters and waves his hand. The door to the outside opens with a bit of protest from the melted lock, and the three hunters fall in. Crowley looks at them as he cleans off the tools he had used.

“Enjoying the audio book?” The hunters look at the room in horrified awe. 

“What...I…” George stares at the man he had seen but six hours ago and tries to speak, then scrambles out of the room to throw up. Crowley just huffs a laugh and puts down the scalpel now that it’s clean. 

“I have a job for you three already. There is a base for the British Men of Letters about three hours south of here. It’s where they were staying while they...arranged things. There is a single person left to guard it. I’ll send you all the juicy deets. They of course probably have moved since then.” Samantha stares, studying the corpse. She was the one who got info in the group, she could learn something here. Crowley notices. “Want lessons darling? We could have some private time, where I teach you wonderfully messy things.” Samantha sneers and Dan steps in front of her, which she sees as unneeded from her glare. 

“I see you took the guns they brought with while we were out.” Crowley nods and looks at the remaining bloody tools and smock. He waves his hand and everything is clean. 

“Guilty. I left one in your armory though. Please, go kill Jakobs with it.”

“Jakobs? Who the Hell is that?!” Asks Dan. 

“The last agent of theirs in the states. Who I want dead. The last known address,” he waves a hand “is on your desk along with my number. Call me when you’re done. That’s an order darlings.” They glare. “Now, if you’ll pardon me I need to collect two things-“ Samantha holds out a very small leather bound book, and Dan holds out the jar with the part of my soul. Crowley pauses. “Yes. Now. Hand them over.” Sam shakes her head and Crowley tenses, ready to end his contract. He had put nothing in there about him just killing them. Then he thinks for a moment, he could just teleport the book, but he is curious. 

“I’m giving you a chance t-“

“I like the part about your first deals in Scotland.” Crowley tenses as Samantha flips through the pages. “Take it, leave now, and don’t return.” Crowley pauses. 

“How about I call first?”

“Fine. Just leave.” Samantha tosses the book and Crowley grabs it, putting it in his coat. 

“Happily, after my other possession is returned to me.” He looks to Dan, who shakes his head. “Excuse me?”

“This is a baby soul, ain’t it?” Crowley laughs, I do as well. Not even close. 

“No. Not at all. It-“

“And we should believe you why?” Asks Dan clenching the jar. Crowley sighs and holds out his hand. 

“You shouldn’t. But-“ the jar appears in his hand, “it doesn’t really matter.” Dan looks at his empty hand, startled. Crowley opens the jar and looks at it. He pauses, then starts to drink it despite the sting. The part of my soul swims in the holy water like a bit of dust, away from his mouth, then speeds towards it, towards me. I feel whole again and Crowley stops and caps the jar before tossing it to a flabbergasted Dan. “Now, take down the warding and I’ll clean this up for you. Don’t want all this meat laying around-“

“No. Leave it. I am a Woman of Letters. I am going to catalogue every single thing you did, how you did it, and how to utilize it. Now. Get out of my house.” At this Crowley regards her more closely. She had seemed colder than the other hunters, now we knew why. 

“British chapter revoltee or…?”

“They recruited my mother, she left and initiated me here. Bad break up with my dad, didn’t even know I was alive.”

“Oh?” 

“Let’s just say today took some self control.” She shifts and we can see her hand tighten on her gun. Crowley is intrigued, but can tell it is time to go. 

“Well then. I’ll just take my leave.”

“Leave the singing gun.” Says George as he wobbles back in. Crowley opens his coat and reveals the gun in his inner pocket. 

“You mean this? No, but as I said, there is a smaller one in your armory, which you would know if you had a stronger stomach. Now. Really. Go get Jakobs. I’ll give you a bonus if you finish by Friday.”

“Like what?” Crowley pauses. 

“How about... no deals with innocent people will be done for an entire day if you do.” They are silent. “You do know how many deals are done in a day?” Silence. “Over 200. Now… deal?”

“And you’ll keep this because?” Asks George. 

“Because I-“

“Because he doesn’t break deals.” Says Samantha. Crowley smiles. 

“So glad we understand each other. Now. Deal?” There is silence again. I can feel Crowley’s amusement. The percent of deals with innocent people ranged wildly from day to day. And that depends on your definition of innocent.

“Deal. I’m not kissing on it, not again.” Says Samantha and Crowley nods. 

“Fine. Your loss.” He looks at his new hunters. “Lovely doing business with you. I expect a call by Friday.” He walks towards the exit and as he passes he snaps and they flinch. “You’re welcome.” He had fixed the door. We walk through the halls and toward the exit. The bodies are already gone, their weapons secreted away. With a snap they are in Crowley’s other pocket. Only one other gun. Not much. The gold egg, however, that is there. He doesn’t even pause in his stride and continues out the door. It closes with a slight thud behind and he continues up into the winding stairs, up into the desert, up past the teleporting wards, up into the ether… and back to his stash. He looks around and frowns. 

“This will all have to be moved.” He sighs and goes over to the door, it’s old, older than the one on the bunker, and has symbols and sigils so intricate I can’t really make out what is the carving and what is the door. What I can tell... is that it radiates power. He looks at it for a moment and with a push it flies off its hinges and shatters against the wall. A feeling of lightness permeates the room; the wards have been broken. Crowley turns and looks around for a moment, regarding his treasures, deciding on something...and snaps. Five things disappear. I’m not sure what they are, just that there is an absence where there wasn’t moments ago. He snaps again, and more things vanish. 

By the time he is done the room feels bare, despite there being more than a hundred items still in it. These were apparently less important. Enough so that he can text a demon to guard the room until he can come back and move them. He was late after all. He dials another number and waits.

“Anton. Apologies, I was delayed. No, the heart is fine, and yours, for the agreed upon price. Good. I’ll be there momentarily.” He grabs the box with the heart and steps into the ether and out into a lavish office. White marble, pillars, tall ferns, gold accents, a view of a busy city with very old buildings sprinkled around. A man with a very sharp beard waits looking out over the city next to a desk so large it seems inefficient. There is no hint of magic, or arcane, anywhere. Crowley walks toward him. We have a moment of silence before the next bit of scheming starts...

So...can I know what is in the journal? Besides your rise to power?

“No.”

“Pardone’?” The man turns and his robes shine with the movement. Purple with intricate patterns of paisley that seem inset into the fabric.The gold trim shines, not with luster, but with magic. Crowley takes a step into the air and arrives at the desk to set the box down.

“Apologies, Anton. As I said, I was upheld.”

“And what could ‘ave possibly ‘eld up ze King of Hell?” 

“The British Men of Letters.”

“Ah, old friends of mine.” Crowley pauses as he is opening the box and looks at Anton.

“They tried to take me apart, to study.” Anton frowns for half a second then shrugs.

“Friends no longere zen. Also, I assume, for ze reason zat you left none alive, yes?” Crowley continues opening the box.

“Astute as ever, but their organization is still working, if a bit lesser. My deal with them however, regarding contracts in England...well.”

“Ah, well, I will stay away from zem until zey no longere exist, or something else ‘appens. Now. To zey most important business at ‘and.” Anton picks up the decanter on the desk and pours some of the amber liquid into a glass then pushes it to Crowley. “Your preferred.” Crowley picks it up and sips, and nods.

“See Anton, this is why I enjoy doing business with you, you know how to treat a girl right.” He toasts and takes another sip before setting it down. “Now, dragon heart, the old kind. I’ve shown you mine...?” Anton chuckles at all the innuendo and snark and snaps his fingers. 

Unlike Crowley’s it doesn’t cause some magical effect, but summons two servants who are carrying a chest. The chest itself is beautiful, carvings of faces and flowers intermingling with vines cover the sides. The top has no such beautiful designs, but is covered in sigils and symbols. The two people carrying the chest on their shoulders however are as beautiful as the chest they carry. Tan, with black hair and clothes so white they almost hurt to look at. The woman is thin, classically beautiful with almond eyes. The man is feminine, elven features, his eyes more slanted. Both have golden eyeshadow.

“And zat is what I love about working with you Crowley, you entertain. Now, 300 souls, yes? The box is complimentary, as are the two carrying it. Enjoy.” Crowley gives a slight incline and smile to show his appreciation, I can tell he has plans for them already. 

“I am sure I will. So, saved the date to rehash the contract?” Says Crowley as he finishes the scotch.

“I would not miss zat for ze world. What waz it again? July….20th 2130?”

“At 3pm. Cream this time?”

“Only if you wear a zat outfit. You know what ze coat does for me.”

“Darling, it’s not about what it does for you, it’s about what I’ll do to you with it.” Ah, so it is that type of ‘business’ relationship.

We are gone. All 305 of us. To Hell. After all, Crowley has a new very fancy fish tank to hide in his cupboard, and a few ‘fish’ to transfer.


	20. The Hunter's Broken Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a terrifying discovery is made.

We, he, sit in his private office in California as he goes over the projections for the new app. The light plays through the curtains gently, contradicting the dark subject of Crowley’s attention. The room was beautiful, reminiscent of one from earlier seasons in the show. Tasteful dark wood and brushed bronze with red and cream accents created a tasteful ambience. Dark, but not forbolding unless you knew Crowley, or were meeting at night. 

We hadn’t been bothered for days. Crowley had a rule after all. If he was brought a problem, and he, or I, unbeknownst to them, solved it within five minutes, whoever brought the problem to him was put on the rack. Same went for paperwork. If it was something someone else could sign off, or he was given something without a summary attached… well it meant someone was wasting his time. 

He didn’t like his time being wasted with boring things. It was a known rule. Waste the King’s time with anything boring...You’d wish he had killed you because you’d be used to alleviate his boredom. 

The app, the new business, that was interesting… for now. Projections were up, thirty people had bought and used kits in the last month. Five of them had bought kits that were actually meant to work. Out of the thirty, twenty three had visited crossroads. Ten deals were made. Two had wanted to become a demon then and there. One had signed a contract with Crowley specifically; and not the standard rider one. 

There’s a fizzle as the soul next to me fades away and joins the glitter in the red smoke. I cringe. I had finally gotten used to having a roommate, and I realized quite suddenly why Crowley wanted me to. 

It had taken a while. He started by letting bits, memories, experiences, out of wherever he kept the other soul. Training me until I could withstand being next to the essence of a person and a demon at once. I got used to it, didn’t mind it, grew comfortable, and then...they died. Gone into the red storm that was the King of Hell. It was horrifying, and he wanted me to see it. He rode that high of horror for days. He never told me if those souls still talked, still were people. If they were just suggestions, ideas of who they were. Or even if they were just gone. He held it over my head, a fear he could tap into whenever he had a whim. 

And then...years later...the second revelation happened. I watched as those white sparks of light that caused his red miasma to glitter, dull, turn pink. They were being corrupted by their constant contact with the red smoke. I watched as they were corrupted, turning into some type of proto demon soul. I was concerned, but it was understandable, being in contact with a demon soul, being buffeted and thrown about for years. Of course they would be a little corrupted... But then...they turned red, not black. They were gone. There was just...Crowley. Crowley and I. Just us. 

I am the one that amuses him, give him the basic abilities that come with a human soul...the others just enhance it, until they faded.

There are always new ones though, his red storm always glittered with white and pink. There is just...more of him. I remain, fearful I’d be next and wondering if I wanted to be. Terrified and comfortable at the same time. Horrified but numb.

It kept him entertained, so he kept me… Or perhaps it was because I was broken in. Perhaps it was because my contract was the first. Perhaps he actually enjoyed my company. There were many perhapses, never any concrete answers. I thought he would have grown bored of me by now. 

It has been years since he first took me from my body. Many things had changed. Three things hadn’t. Me, Crowley’s addiction, and his personal contracts. 

Crowley ignores me except for a smile and a jolt of pain to bring me back to the present situation. He is looking through more prospectives, people who might make deals via the app based on their purchasing trends with it and other similar programs over the last few years. He had found one, an older man. He had bet his life savings away, twice, and needed money. He was desperate and Crowley’s scouting department had noticed three hits from his IP address on websites that were related to demon summoning. A possible new soul, one I had damned to something weird, to unknown nothingness by discovering this phenomenon. 

After 20 years and some 30 plus contracts, about half of Crowley’s signers never reached Hell. Each soul… he didn’t just get high, his powers were growing. 

“Thanks to you Chew Toy.” I sigh, a thought not a physical action, I have no body after all. 

There is a knock on the door and Crowley looks up from the papers and his phone. People don’t bother him in his private office unless it is an emergency. If he is in his private office it means he is focusing. This might be trouble. 

“Enter.” A small demon walks in, a young girl, no more than 10. She has a hole in her shoulder, and a rather bad gash on her face. 

“Sir, my position at the Terantin’s has been compromised.”

“Obviously.” There is silence, and even I can’t help but be annoyed. C’mon man, explain. “Well!? How?!” Crowley voices his own annoyance that is amplified by mine, a more common occurrence than I’d like to admit. I am rather impatient when it comes to incompetence myself.

“Hunters sir. Combing the area for a specific demon. Found me talking to-” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Crowley holds up his hand.

“Save it. I believe I’m about to find out myself.” I feel a tug, we both do, and an odd squeezing sensation as Crowley is summoned.

We appear in a dimly lit room, the tail end of a recorded summoning spell echoing off the walls. Crowley immediately looks around and finds the expected devil’s trap. Carved into the floor. Whoever this is, they aren’t taking chances with paint.

Crowley looks around and sighs. The house is old, a log cabin, and wherever we are, it’s daytime and warm. The man standing above a bowl with a bloodied white cloth around his hand can’t be more than 45 but his eyes look far older. He is tired. His brown hair is cut short, too short to be grabbed, and he had a long scar on his neck, a vampire bite. Apparently Crowley hadn’t quite gotten them all. The hunter stands there, silent, and Crowley fumes. He thought his rapport with the hunters had been ok. 

Maybe his, but his demons? Seems there was a hiccup.

“Can I help you?” The hunter glares. “Really, you’ve summoned the King of Hell, trapped him, and you have nothing to say?” The wooden table between us and the hunter creaks as he leans on it, using it to bend over the chair and pick up a shotgun. “Well, getting right down to it are we? I’m not even here five minutes and I’m being assaulted without being told why.” The shotgun is pumped and pointed at Crowley who just sighs again. “Rude.” Stupid was more like it. Boring was another word, or suspenseful. So many options that both Crowley and I were tired of. 

Either way it is wasting time that Crowley’s Hellhound is surely using to reach its master. They were on a hunt before this summoning, it will take a tiny bit to get here. 

The hunter kicks the wall three times and there’s a creak from another room. Crowley glances over, interested at the two new hunters walking into his view. 

The younger one can’t be more than thirteen, while the older one looks into their early twenties. The older one has red cropped hair and a red leather jacket with a rather ugly grey shirt underneath. Their face is very fair and covered in freckles, only marred by a scar above the right eye. I have no idea if they are male or female. The younger one is probably male, but also very fair. He has sandy hair and is wearing a puffy burgundy winter vest over a green long sleeve shirt that had seen better days.

The older one is carrying a flask.

“So to what d-” Crowley is interrupted by the older kid throwing water on his face. Crowley blinks and wipes the holy water off, ignoring the sting that was barely there anymore. “I’m becoming less inclined to help you by the minute.” I couldn’t say I disagreed, the hunters were being horrible hosts, and still hadn’t told us what they wanted. “I’m assuming this is about Eliza?” The older kid blinks, confused.

“No… and I thought you were supposed to be the King of Hell?”

“I am. The King of Hell with a wet suit. I-”

“Then why didn’t you burn? You’re not a demon if you don’t burn.”

“King of Hell, has its perks darling. Hurts just enough to make me tingle in all the right places.” That was true, well not the tingling, not right now anyway, but these immunities had nothing to do with the crown. That was thanks to me, and the other souls flitting around in broken pieces like glitter in a hurricane called Crowley. The kid adjusts their shoulders, uncomfortable with the suggestions that their actions turned him on, just like Crowley wanted. “Now, will Someone please tell me Why I’m Here!?” The youngest hunter backs away at the yelling and the shotgun is aimed a bit more at Crowley’s stomach. “Oh put your metal dick away, there’s no need to prematurely ejaculate salt everywhere when we haven’t even come to a disagreement yet.” Crowley looks at the older man. “What, demon got your tongue?”

“No, griffon.” Says the hunter holding the flask. At this Crowley looks at the older man with a bit of respect, and awe at his stupidity.

“Really, you went to a griffon nest? You actually passed through the veil... to the fae lands... to hunt a griffon. Why?” Huh, so that was apparently a thing. Although, I guess a different dimension didn’t really count toward ‘monsters on earth,’ so Crowley hadn’t really broken his contract with me.

“It was hunting here on a regular basis.” Crowley turns to the youngest hunter.

“Really, see I find that hard to believe, because the spell for anything other than a faerie to break the veil requires Fucking Thumbs to cast.”

“It doesn’t matter, that’s not why we're here.” Says the one with the flask as they put their arm in front of the younger hunter protectively.

“Oh, so you don’t want to make a deal to get his tongue back?” The shotgun shifts again and there is a grunt from the older man.

“No. We need a demon killing weapon. Angel blades are kinda expensive on the black market.” At this Crowley sighs. It happened at least every two years or so. Some demon would mess up, and rather than face Crowley’s wrath would go rogue, and some demon’s would mess up at that too by bringing attention to themselves.

“If they are being that obvious they probably aren’t one of mine. Tell me who they were wearing and I’ll take care of it.”

“They said they were acting on your orders.” At this Crowley looks interested, I had to say I was too. Had someone interpreted something wrong, or just lied?

“What exactly were they doing that warranted calling me?”

“Contracts with children.”

“Single digits?”

“Don’t know.” Crowley is quiet at this. He was being truthful when he said that children’s souls weren’t often worth much, unless they had really rich lives, or really poor ones. So any contract with a child under 13 had to last at least 15 years before collection so their soul could actually mature into something useful. Children didn’t make good demons. Woe to the demon that brought Crowley a useless contract or soul.

“Long term or short term?” We both hear the gun shift across the room and there is a bang. The salt stings quite a bit and Crowley takes a step back from the force of the shot. He looks down at his suit and frowns. 

“Ow!” The hunters ignore him and the talkative one continues on his tirade. 

“It doesn’t matter, all contracts-”

“Are evil, blah blah. Really, you wouldn’t have cellphones if it weren’t for contracts. You like those don’t you?” The sound of the shotgun being reloaded fills the air. “Would you give it a rest, you’ve already ruined my suit!” It was a nice suit, one of the more expensive ones too. He had been wearing a very dark blood red dress shirt with it, literally the only piece of colored clothing he owned. I had liked that shirt. We had both liked that shirt.

“We want something that can kill demons, and you’re going to give it to us.” The gun snaps as it is closed and Crowley sighs as the hunter holding it walks closer so the next blast will do more damage.

“And why should I give it to you?”

“Because if you don’t, we won’t let you out.” Crowley raises a brow.

“Really, that’s your big plan? Wait me out? I do believe my life span is just a bit longer than yours. By infinity.” There is a bang and the shotgun once again shoots salt at Crowley who snarls at being painfully blasted back five feet to the ground and edge of the trap. The salt stings again but we both feel a rather strange far more intense pain. His left hand is burning as if Hellfire is eating it. He doesn’t look, but makes a show of getting up so that during his switch to a more vertical position he can see what’s going on. 

His hand is on the outer circle of the trap. His pinky is over it.

I can feel the cruel anticipation radiating through him; the ideas he is having, and the bit of annoyance he didn’t know about this when he was in the bunker. If it had even worked then, it could have been the one last soul he had taken last month that had pushed him over the edge. 

Either way, he didn’t have to wait for his hound at all if he wanted, but he was gonna take this slow. I can tell, and honestly, after the poor treatment and unoriginal plans, I didn’t blame him. He is a demon and an actor, and this type of set up was too perfect to not manipulate into a piece of art. 

He stands up and dusts off as if nothing had transpired. “Would you stop that?! It’s doing nothing other than leading you ever closer to a naked demon.”

“We can do it forever.”

“Correction, you can do it until someone, or something, gets here to help.” Crowley removes one of his hands from his pockets to look at his phone.

“No signal out here.” Says the youngest one. 

“You don’t have my carrier.” Huh, what cell carrier does the King of Hell have? “All of them darling.”

“Pardon?” Says the hunter in the red coat. Crowley looks up from his phone, which indeed has no signal. We must be in the fucking wilderness.

“Yes?”

“All’a them?” Asks the older kid, still holding the holy water.

“Ah, sorry, bit of a one sided conversation if you can’t hear my friend.” The hunters all stiffen and look around frantically to find this ‘friend.’ “Oh, she’s not out there.” The hunters turn to look at the King of Hell, confused and concerned. “She’s in here, with me.” The older kid stares, looking closely at the circle and then frowns at Crowley, thinking he is about to call him on a bluff.

“There’s no one else in the circle.” Crowley smiles.

“Oh you thought... No. No no no. Not the circle. I mean, in here.” And he points to himself. “I’ll let you in on a little secret gents. I have over 20 souls in here with me, most are dissolved into little bits, lending me power, giving me a high...wonderful for date nights.” He walks slowly toward the edge of the circle. “But one, one is special, because with the other’s help, she... lets me… do this.” And as he speaks he walks over the edge of the trap. It burns like Hellfire to me, perhaps like holy fire for Crowley, but like I say about all physical pain...it passes. 

The hunters all twitch and take a step back as Crowley stands outside the circle. He picks a bit of salt off his sleeve and looks around, smiling at the group. “Hello, so nice to meet on an even playing field. Well... not even. I suppose it’s a slippery slope for you now. Three souls against over… let’s say 20 for your comfort, and a demon isn't exactly even.”

“Why-why are you telling-” The youngest hunter trembles, but looks defiantly at the King of Hell as he half voices the question. I am also wondering about this. If they died and went to heaven, the angels could-

“Don’t worry darling, I have it covered.” Crowley looks at the hunters as they stare at him in confusion and fear; he rolls his eyes and whistles...although nothing seems to happen. He sighs and looks at them. “Because you’re not only going to die, you’re going to Hell in a hound basket.” There is a creak and through Crowley’s eyes I can see the massive Hellhound filling the door. It’s eyes are bright red, like Crowley’s, and drool is dripping to the ground from between sharp fangs. “This would be where you run.” The hunters turn as one to flee toward the door, toward the Hellhound, toward death and worse. Crowley chuckles and flicks his wrist, a familiar blade appearing in it. He apparently had decided to get his hands dirty today. “I’d tell you to close your eyes Chew Toy, but... well…”

  
  


…………………………………….

There is blood literally everywhere except Crowley as he leans against the table and watches his hound swallow the soul of the oldest hunter.

“Good boy Growley, now finish your hunt and take them all to Hell, my quarters. Wait for daddy there.” The hound growls happily as it snuffs at the ground and the corpses. “Yes, by all means, take a treat.” To anyone who couldn’t see the monstrous dog, it would appear as if the entire upper half of a corpse was floating roughly through the air. Crowley looks around for a clean piece of cloth, but finds none. He glances at his blade, slick with blood and sighs, waving his hand so it vanishes.

“Well, that was certainly a learning experience.” I shudder inside the smoke. Yes. It was. I knew intestines were long, but That long. I really couldn’t imagine. Crowley ignores my disgust and horror for now, focused on other things that were far more important that a mere feeling he might enjoy. He walks over to the devil’s trap and looks at it for a moment, before stepping inside. From there he holds his hand over the edge again and the pain returns, he doesn’t even flinch. He leaves his hand there and the skin starts to blister a bit. 

So there is still a consequence. He files that information away and steps over it again, still burning internally. As I watch him testing this new ability I wonder what else he is immune to now. Smiting? Bloofer dust? Bone burning? Death by-

“Anything it seems.” Even bone burning? “Let’s not test that just yet.” You’d better hide your bones well, Crowley. “Frozen in an iceberg should do the trick. Even with global warming it will take a rather long time. Long enough for me to finally outgrow that idiotic reliquary, which may be soon.” Huh, an iceberg. How’d he get his bones into the middle of that. “Darling, if you can’t figure out how something was done the answer is usually, ‘magic.’” We walk into the kitchen. There are liquor bottles everywhere, someone was a heavy drinker. Crowley sneers. He didn’t care about the alcoholism, no, that was approved of. It’s a sin he can manipulate after all. The smell however...this was not good liquor. If you were going to drink that much, drink something good. I disagreed. This hunter wasn’t drinking to taste or have fun, he was drinking to forget. Getting black out drunk on good alcohol is a waste. 

He continues walking about the house, looking for anything of interest or use. “Now we still need to find out about this Eliza and these child contracts, if they are indeed going too young. Children can’t keep their mouths shut.” Wouldn’t that just mean they violate the NDA sooner and come to Hell? “And the damage would be done, and I still wouldn’t have a soul that was actually, useful.” Crowley looks around, finally deciding there is nothing of interest, besides a sports bra that tells us the hunter with the red jacket was female. With a thought we are gone, back in California in the office that had rays of evening sun breaking through. 

This whole escapade has taken less than an hour and the young demon is still waiting in a chair. He jumps as Crowley appears and stands at attention. 

“How did it go sir?” Crowley ignores him and goes over to his desk. The demon stands still, except for some shifting, as the king grabs a folder from a drawer. I smile internally. Crowley always knew when to do things with speed and a snap and when doing things slowly and visibly would make more of a point. He hands the folder to the young demon, or the demon in the young girl, and they take it and wait expectantly for orders. 

“All the demons on this list are to return home. Send out retrieval teams if any refuse. Court will be in an hour.” The demon nods and turns to leave. “I was not Done Yet!” They swallow and once more look at their king. “Your operation is, as of now, canceled. You will take care of the clean up, including any hunters. Do you understand?” The demon nods. “Good, on your way out, send the architect to my chambers below.” The demon nods. 

“Yes sir.” There is silence and once again Crowley and I sigh. 

“Go!” The demon rushes out and the door closes loudly behind him. Crowley shakes his head, and waits a moment before following him. He locks the door with his personal skeleton key, made from the skeleton of the first human soul to enter Hell, and looks to the guards. Neither shift an inch. Satisfied Crowley moves on. He walks the halls and I wonder what his plan is. He had just found out something monumental and isn’t really reacting to it. He doesn’t say anything. He didn’t like talking to me mentally, and he didn’t want any demon to know exactly the extent of what he was doing with souls. Not yet. Not until he thought he was powerful enough to withstand a fight if I got taken from him. He wasn’t stupid, he was proud, but he could admit my human soul, the one other full one he kept with him, and the parts he kept to flee to if he was killed, still mattered. I am the back up, the soul that kept him safe between contracts. Which he was about to fix. 

We reach his room, guarded by two Hellhounds who sit up when he approaches. 

“Good girls.” He pats them both before he opens the door with his key. The warding outside flares for a moment as he walks in, but allows him to pass. He closes the door behind him and locks it again before going to the painting on the wall and opening the cabinet behind it. He whistles as he breaks the warding there too and from behind us there is a low growl. Crowley gets out three empty jars and turns to Growley, holding one out. 

“Drop it.” The Hellhound makes a very undog-like sound and hacks up a glowing ball of light into the jar. Crowley closes the lid and looks at it. He nods. “Hello Don. Your ten years are up. Time to come to daddy.” The Hellhound whines, Crowley pauses. “Are the other three making your stomach hurt?” There is another whine. Crowley grabs another jar and holds it out. 

One after the other the three hunter souls are deposited in jars, which are screwed shut and placed in the hidden cupboard. He wanted to do some research on them before deciding whether or not to trump them in the ‘fish tank’.

There is a knock on the door, accompanied by growling outside, and from Growley. Crowley looks at his hound and gives her a pat. 

“Go make some noise so he knows I’m in here.” There is an affirming growl and the monstrous dog walks to the door and leans against it, making it creak. Crowley meanwhile regards the jar with Don in it. “Had a fairly successful 10 years didn’t we?” The soul flits nervously in the jar, I have no clue who this is but I feel sorry for them. “Don’t darling, trust me.” Crowley opens the jar and snaps his fingers. The soul thins and twists into a line of light, before zooming into the waiting red smoke. I feel Don settle in next to me and I flinch. I knew this man, and I did not want to know him more. 

“This will be an interesting year.” I cringe. Great. I am learning truths I don’t want to from the soul next to me, and it’s breaking from the information it is gaining from me. It will die. In the worst possible way. Don starts to try to bargain with the King of Hell, who just laughs as he puts away the jar, locks the cupboard, and replaces the painting. He already had what he wanted from the soul, they had nothing to bargain with. Not even other people’s souls, which was the first thing Don offers. Crowley could get them by himself easily after all. Case in point he opens his liquor cabinet, opens a drawer with glasses, and pulls out a folder hidden in a corner. The folder is of prospective ‘homes away from home’ he had looked at and deemed top choices. He had already forgotten about the man from the app. Crowley shakes his head. 

“Don’t be daft Chew Toy. I just have someone particular in mind.” He looks through the files and pulls out a paper on a young woman, twenty five, whose career was failing due to an inability to get noticed. Too many other painters out there. Crowley takes that dossier and puts it into another folder, the one for souls he was currently holding a part of, and then returns the entire collection to the liquor cabinet, which he also locks, but not before getting himself a drink. 

He snaps and the door to his room unlocks, showing an old shaking man with white hair waiting on the other side. The man’s clothes are work clothes, and he has a clipboard and pencil. 

“Go play in the pits Growley. Lionel.” The two denizens of Hell pass each other as Crowley looks at the awkward dance. Lionel stands in the center of the room looking around and nodding. 

“I like what you done wit it sir, much better den what Lilith did.” 

“Of course it is. Now, I have three jobs for you.” Lionel nods and holds up his clipboard ready to write. “I want a devil’s trap painted on this side of the door on the ceiling, another engraved into the ground in the center of the courtroom, and a third engraved in the top world courtroom. I want the Hell courtroom done in...35 minutes.” The architect looks confused and worried, but nods nevertheless. “Good. I have some business topside to attend to. I will return to see them complete, or to see your blood used to paint what isn’t finished.” And we are gone. 

The art gallery is empty, except for the art and the artist. And Crowley. The young woman looks hopeful as he regards a painting entitled “Flower in snow.” It’s an abstract realism collage, the representation of the flower provided by petals suspended in clear acrylic over white oil paint. It looks like she had put the petals and acrylic on while the oil was still wet. It gave an interesting textured effect to the whole piece. A piece that costs $240.00. The young woman stands to the side patiently. 

“It’s unique.” Says Crowley, as he turns to the artist. “Like you.” The woman blushes. “Unique things should be noticed, but it’s hard amidst so much clutter, isn’t it?” She nods. “I’m in the business of making things that should stand out, stand out. I could help you if you want.”

“Are...you a collector?”

“Of sorts. I’m in the business of making dreams come true. And dreams like this…” he points to the white painting, “deserve it.” I snort at the coercion, but can do nothing. 

Twenty minutes later, a contract, a kiss, a bit of soul, and we are on our way out the door. Even moments after the contract has started five people are on their way in... and one demon with a sniper rifle sits on a rooftop somewhere nearby. We walk around the corner and midstep into the courtroom in Hell. Lionel is putting the finishing touches on the engraved devil’s trap, he has decided to fill the engraving with gold. Crowley stands over it, and watches. 

“Why the gold? I didn’t ask for gold.”

“More noticable, more durable sir den just a carvin.”

“And if I want it filled in and removed?”

“Den I’ll remove it. I’ve rebuilt dis room from scratch tree times, I kin change a simple engraving.” He had good points, but you never knew with Crowley. Fortunately the king is in a good mood. He nods in approval as soon as Lionel is done polishing the last small section. 

“Stay for the meeting, see the outcome of your work.”

“I’d rather no-“

“I insist.” Lionel nods and backs to the corner. Crowley walks to his throne and sits in silence; thinking, planning. I have a feeling I knew what is going to happen. Show of force.. 

“A reminder, ” He says as the doors open and demons walk in “why I’m in charge.” The doors close behind the group of demons and Crowley stands from his throne and begins to pace. The sound of his shoes on the stone is the only sound, there is no moaning, no screaming. All the torture had been moved to a lower level. It of course wasn’t just so the sounds of the damned didn’t bother Crowley, no. It was so that when Crowley spoke in court, he's the only thing that can be heard. 

“Let’s play, twenty questions.” There is silence, awkward shifting, and confusion. The king was often odd, but this was surely a jest? Crowley continues. “Who here...has been making deals...with children, minors?” There is silence. “Step forward.” After a moment of hesitation, five demons do so. Crowley approaches them, carefully and pointedly skirting the circle, then walks behind them. “Who here, has been making deals with children and using the standard 15 year contract?” 

“I-“ A demon with dreads pipes up and is immediately shot down. 

“No. No talking. Just step forward.” All of the demons in the row step forward, closer to the trap. “Who here, has been making deals with children and think they may have gotten the attention... of a hunter?” There is silence, but eventually three demons step forward. Crowley continues pacing. “Who here... hasn’t reported that?” One demon steps forward. 

“I was goin-“ Crowley interrupts the demon as he walks behind him again. 

“Who here has made deals with children under the age of 13 Without My APPROVAL?” The demon sighs in relief. He hadn’t done that. 

It didn’t matter. He had still failed. Crowley pushes the demon the remaining two steps into the trap with a wave of his hand. “You didn’t think hunters noticing your contracts with minors was worth reporting to me!?” The demon stumbles, his short dreads waving back and forth as he shakes. 

“I was going to try to handle it myself so you wouldn’t be bothered with trivialities.”

“Trivialities. Trivialities!” Crowley glares at the demon in the circle and then at the rest. “Did we learn nothing from the previous family of hunters?!” There is shuffling and Crowley’s face twists in anger and disappointment. “Hunters, are one of the few things I should Always be bothered about. Immediately! I take care of them! I make deals with them! I was building a rapport so hopefully, one day, we could have the same deal we had in Britain in America! Especially since the Brit’s contract is done!” He frowns and there is a growl from outside the doors as two Hellhounds make their own loyalty to the king known. How many had he decided to train since his rise to the throne? 

The demons shift, nervous, there is no escape, and the fact that there wasn’t means that the king has something planned. Something that he wanted them to see. Crowley glares as he paces in front of the trap. The demon inside stands stiffly still, only his eyes following the king. “All of the older demons Always underestimated hunters, one family in particular! Half of them are Dead, and the ones that aren’t have been removed from their earthly duties because they could not grasp the simple concept of friends close enemies closer.” He walks toward the devils trap and there is a murmur as he steps over it. “Fortunately today’s hunters have not tried to fill the flannel shirts of the previous ones...yet. I still had to deal with some this afternoon. Luckily for you, they didn’t do any damage.” He stands next to the demon in the center.

“I’m sorry sir. It won’t happen again.”

“No. It won’t.” I know what’s coming and feel the slight twist of his wrist as he summons the angel blade. There is barely a sound as the blade slides into the demon’s gut but the room echoes for a moment when the body slumps to the floor. 

The silence after is louder and oppressing. The king is in a devil’s trap, in front of his court, vulnerable. Crowley sighs and wipes off the blade on the clothes of the dead demon before pushing him out of the circle. 

“Let this be a lesson; hunters, are, dangerous.” He stands and looks at the court, and then turns...and with the second soul beside mine it barely burns as we cross the edge of the trap. There are hushed whispers and shifting as he returns to his throne and sits, regarding his court. 

“But so am I.” 

The court is silent. They just saw their king, an average, albeit powerful, crossroads demon, do the impossible. He treated a devil’s trap if it were a mere marking on the floor. No beings besides gods were immune to the sigils completely. Only humans. 

Crowley’s eyes flash red at my thought, providing more proof to his subjects that he was still in fact a demon. They could sense him, but he felt...different. There is more shifting and murmuring from the crowd as nervous energy and fear spread.

“Dismissed.” The word echoes a moment before the demons start to remove themselves from the room, quickly and with hushed whispers. 

Soon the room is empty again. We are alone. Save for Don who has been gagged by Crowley’s smoke due to his incessant attempts at bargaining. 

He sits in silence for a moment, waiting for the faint sound of footsteps to fade before voicing his question. 

“So, Chew Toy. What should I do about my bones?”


	21. The Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which allies are used, and a contract cemented.

We get the call on Friday as suspected….but many many months too late. Despite being late, it is far too early on a Friday. As in in the middle of having fun with his two toys from Anton. It was his after breakfast aid for digestion. He had had a scone. 

He sighs as the phone rings and sets down the scalpel. I sigh in relief, happy to no longer be watching. It is nothing compared to what these bodies were experiencing though. I say bodies because, after all, they had no souls anymore. Those were in the fishtank. 

I didn’t want to think about these bodies' reactions to what is happening to them. That is what’s making me feel odd, not the torture. 

Crowley removes the gloves from his hands and drops them in the trash before picking up his phone.

“Yes? I’m in the middle of practice.”

“Crowley. There are three of them.” Hisses Samantha. 

“And?”

“That is more than one!” 

“You can count. Wonderful.”

“Crowley! We didn’t prepare for three!”

“Always prepare for more than you will face! Are you new at this? Did I hire green hunters?”

“Crowley, just get your ass-” Crowley rolls his eyes and, after apperating a jar with a familiar white light into his hand, we are standing next to Samantha. He is careful to arrive out in the open and walk under the overhang so that any live feeds from a satellite would see him arrive, but not what was happening after. “-down here. Fuck!” We stand outside a motel, stucco siding and clay roof, in the desert heat. We are at the corner, looking around it at the front of the building. Crowley quickly does a glance around for security cameras, and parked cars within view. There are none, not that aren’t already broken. He nods to Samantha as soon as he is done, which is about 5 seconds later.

“Hello darling.You know, you were supposed to handle this for me, and call me when it was done.” As he talks he starts the ‘shower curtain’ strategy, a standard when going into battle now.

“Why? Why not just do it yourself?” Asks Samantha.

“I’m busy.”

“Yeah. With what?”

“Think about that for a second, do you really want to know?” George comes out from behind the building before Samantha can answer. He is still wearing flannel, a different one, but still flannel.

“Two more out back.” At this Crowley frowns. This was far too many. Something was going on, besides the attack on him. “Their cars are armored too. Presidential level shit. Oh, uh... Crowley.”

“George. Dan here?”

“Sniping position across the street.” That was unusual, and Crowley’s pause and glance across the street and back to Samantha says so. “Army, black ops. Whole squad was killed by werewolves in Iraq. Cept for him.” 

“And he wasn’t bitten?”

“Oh no, he was. He eats all his meat raw and only snipes, never close combat. It’s been hard, but…” Crowley blinks. That was interesting. Perhaps that explained the stronger reaction to the song shot. Still he hid it well. 

“I could cure him, just like that, in 10 years…” They both pause and look at Crowley.

“No. He’ll say no.” This was more interesting. 

“Why? I’ve gotten 100’s of contracts from people who want to be human again. Even if it only lasts 10 years.”

“Do you know how many times his nose has saved our asses? He wouldn’t give that up, even if it means Purgatory.” I mean, I know what I’d ask for if I was a werewolf. I wouldn’t want to get rid of all that awesome stuff either. 

Crowley listens to Samantha, and to me, and nods. 

“Humans, always so self sacrificing. Very well. How about I just get rid of that pesky craving for human flesh then?” Both the hunters are still looking at Crowley. Samantha nods to George who dashes to the back to keep watch and she takes a peek around the front. No one yet. 

After confirming that she turns to Crowley.

“Why are you being so nice again? You have what you want from us.”

“Good employees get bonuses. Also it gets a worker back into close combat.”

“We aren’t your employees!” Samantha hisses. 

“Of course you are. I-“ Crowley pauses as he hears a door click and stands perfectly still. 

“Yo-“ 

“Shhh. Movement.” Crowley holds up a hand and watches as one man in a black suit with sunglasses and blonde dreads leaves. Carrying an ice bucket. As soon as he steps out of sight of the window Crowley raises his hand to snap. Samantha grabs it. 

“They couldn’t change the warding on the bunker quickly enough, it’s too old, but they have new wards. Snapping might not work, and as soon as you snap they will know you are here. As soon as one of them dies, they will know.” He lowers his hand and waits for the man to get out of earshot before looking back at Samantha. 

“So what exactly did you call me here for? If I’m shooting blanks?”

“We want to do what you did in the bunker. Trap. With you as bait.”

“I don’t do bait darling.”

“How bout bait and trap and killer?”

“And we do that how? Without me losing another suit? Or getting shot full of paralyzing bullets. And without my powers?” Samantha smiles and kicks a bag toward Crowley. 

“We been doin work too.”

Crowley looks at the bag and takes something black and heavy from it. A bullet proof vest. 

“Really?”

“It’s got its own warding. Strong stuff too.” Crowley waves a hand over it and sigils glow. He reads over them quickly. He couldn’t spot any that might be detrimental to him if they actually worked. 

“Are these demon specific by any chance? Not just to trap me, in any way?”

“...Yes?”

“Just for me, how nice.” He waves and the vest is over his shirt and under his suit jacket. He buttons his coat, despite the heat, to hide the very slight wrinkles the vest causes. “I feel like I’m an agent again, hunting with my sidekick. I suppose that makes you up and coming Agent Mooselette.”

“No.” Says Samantha. 

“Very well. So, I’ve put on this lovely costume, what next? I’m dying to know.” 

“You go in, distract them, while George searches for the wards and sigils outside and in their cars. He will cover the back as soon as the other two enter. Dan will cover the front.”

“And you?” Sam grins.

“I’m a hostage, throw me at them and I’ll create confusion so you can destroy the sigils-.”

“No.”

“What?”

“Won’t work, they don’t care about you. They care about me. If you have something that...tames my inner demon, or kills me with a thought, they will be interested. Especially if they think you can get rid of me before they can make a thorough examination.” Samantha pauses.

“We don’t have anything like that, not that will work fast enough.” Crowley laughs that single light huff of a laugh and waves his hand.

“How lucky then that I do.” And with a wave he hands The Colt over to Samantha, who stares.

“Is that really-”

“Replica darling. Probably.”

“Probably?!”

“Why should I tell you? Makes it more fun.”

“It could kill you and ruin our plan!”

“Oh yes, it would most definitely kill me, but that’s why I have a back up plan.” He touches the jar in his pocket that had the piece of my soul. Reinforced plexiglass jar with runes and a cursed lid only he could open.

He has 3 right now, in boxes and jars. He had figured out a loophole long ago. As long as the souls he had parts of stashed were of different magnitudes, percentages, he would fly to the biggest or closest one first, then the second, then the third. Not ripped apart at all like we thought. So if anything could ever kill him and his current contract holder...well he still had those souls. He still preferred using mine when doing missions, keeping the spark close so he could get back into the fight faster. 

Sam stares at him.

“A backup plan...for death.”

“Yes. Everyone should have one. Now, if we’re ready?” She brings a pair of cuffs out of her pocket and Crowley raises a brow, insinuating something that makes Samantha sigh. 

“Cuffs first, it won’t seem real otherwise.” Crowley holds out his hands, and Samantha raises a brow at his willingness. We hadn’t tested Enochian cuffs yet, but now was as good a time as any. The cuffs are cold, and sting as metal below zero degrees does. 

“Go check with your friends, I’ll wait eagerly for you to get back.” Samantha scrunches her nose in disgust but goes to check George at the corner and text Dan. Crowley takes the time to test the cuffs. He snaps, one of the cuffs opens. “Well then. Hollywood here we come.”

“What?” Says Sam as she walks back. 

“Just musing on what I’ll do with the last survivor this time. What do you prefer, flaying or-” Says Crowley as he twists his wrist against the other to close the cuff. 

“Nope. Not discussing that with you.” Samantha grabs Crowley by the arm roughly and tugs him towards the door, out from under the overhang. Crowley tugs back a bit, putting on a show.

“Hey! Careful with the goods!”

“You want this realistic? Not being gentle.”

“Darling, gentle and careful are not the same thing. Please, be rough, just do it with-.”

“Oh shut up.” I chuckle, this girl was having none of Crowley’s snark or flirtation, real or not. She is shutting him down faster than a teen shuts down a computer when their mom walks in unannounced. 

We stop at the door and Samantha holds up the gun to Crowley’s head. I have no clue if it is the real one or not. This is going to be interesting, most definitely painful, but interesting.

“Knock.” Says Samantha, pushing the gun into his head. Crowley complies. 

All sound inside stops, what little there was. Soon steps, audible only to Crowley, approach the door. There is silence again, followed by muffled whispered words and shuffling. 

“Knock again.” Says Samantha as she jams the gun against his skull with more force.

“Of course, darling. Anything for you.” He is about to knock when the door opens to reveal 3 men and one woman in suits with guns trained on Crowley. He holds both his hands up, giving them a full view of the cuffs. “Ladies, gents. I come in peace.” He is shoved in.

“Whether he wants to or not.” Says Samantha as she holds him by the collar now. As soon as he steps over the threshold we can both feel a slight tingle of magic, and Crowley immediately begins to look around the room for symbols and artefacts. He looks slowly, with the pretense of being interested in his surroundings, his new prison, more than looking For something. 

“Crowley, hunter Samantha. To what do we owe the pleasure, so long after we contacted you at the bunker?” Asks an older woman with striking short blond hair and a suit dress that sports a short tight skirt. She stands to the side, visible now that we are in the room. She is obviously in charge of the far more than three agents here. 

“Contacted? You brits really don’t get the meaning of working together do you? If you had, I dunno, maybe, Called instead of tieing us fucking up and comandeering our base, things might be different now!” 

“You really don’t kn-” Crowley is shaken by Samantha.

“Shut up, you don’t get to speak after what you did.” Crowley turns his head to look at Samantha, intrigued. What exactly had he done?

“Explain.” Says short blonde hair.

“You don’t know what happened in the bunker, do you?” The woman remains quiet. Not answering, not giving any information away. She was smart. However, Sam was blunt. “DO YOU! You don't know what he did!”

“The details, no. We know that all of our agents are dead while you remain. We gained no new information besides the fact that you cooperated with him and his form is different.”

“Yeah, and what do you get when you work with a demon?!” There is silence. “You get betrayed!” The woman looks at Crowley.

“And what exactly did you do?” 

“A lot less than what I will do to you Jakobs." Ah, so this was Jakobs. “You betrayed me. Me! I do the betraying!”

“Not according to the Winchester’s reports.” Crowley chuckles, snaps his fingers almost absentmindedly. Everyone still flinches.

“The three of us were in a very arousingly toxic relationship. You don’t make the cut for such romance darling.”

“And I am thankful for that every day. Now.” Jakobs turns to Samantha. “What do you want in exchange for him?” Crowley snaps again and people flinch. Jakobs returns her gaze to Crowley. “Stop that, or I will stop you. It is not doing anything, so why do you insist on making that noise?”

“It’s making you flinch, which I enjoy very much. Taste of what’s to come when I get you under-”

“Enough.” Snap. “Enough! Samantha, what do you want?”

“I want access to my mother’s books, I want them sent here,” snap “and I want the results of any research you do with this bastard.” Snap. 

“Why not return? Come work for us?” Snap.

“Work for you?” Snap. “You’re the biggest dicks I know, besides him.” Snap. “Efficient dicks, but still dicks.” Snap. Snap. People are no longer flinching from the snaps, as it is obvious that he can’t do anything. That’s what he wants them to think anyway.

“I notice all of your wards have been efficiently put into two balls over there. What do you call those little marvels?” Crowley inclines his head to two purple orbs on the table. There is smoke inside them, it spins and twitches as if alive, searching. 

“Some of the wards are in there. We are not ones to foolishly put all our eggs in one basket. And they are called Orbs of Takaar. After agent Takaar, their creator, whom you killed in the bunker.” One of the agents pointing his gun at us shifts. Crowley looks at him. He has the same nose as one of the agents from the bunker.

“Pity, they look interesting. Odd how you separate the wards into types, the one on the right preventing me from doing things. Why not mix it with the perimeter alarms?”

“The spell does not work that way. To be potent enough to stop all forms of interference it must be focused on one job only.”

“So it works even against...demon magic, The Colt? Really, I find that implausible.” There is silence. Jakobs turns back to Samantha.

“Samantha, do we have a deal?” Snap. “Crowley, for your mother’s books and research regarding him?” Snap. Samantha is silent. Snap. A slight dip in the pressure happens, and suddenly we can all tell it has been slowly lessening over the whole conversation. Jakobs turns to Crowley. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. I’m impotent, shooting blanks.” Jakobs turns to Samantha. Two of the guns on Crowley raise a bit to her head. 

“Your affiliates I assume?”

“What? No. Dan is outside with a sniper rifle loaded with devil’s trap bullets in case Crowley escapes.” 

“And George?”

“Demon knife, checking the perimeter for demons.”

“The demon’s don’t care if Crowley is taken out, they are demons.” Snap.

“Jakobs, you have no idea the depths to which you are wrong. If you were any more wrong, you’d be in Hell. With my friends.” Snap. 

Samantha’s pocket vibrates, and she nudges Crowley. That is apparently the signal. 

“Crowely, y-” Snap. “Crowely, you-” 

“No. Your conversation is with me! And… and I want one more thing.”

“Yes?” Snap.

“I want my mother’s dossier. Complete. No redactions.” There is silence.

“We cannot do that Sam.”

“Don’t call me SAM!” Samantha quickly takes the gun and shoots one of the orbs, the one on the right, sending shards everywhere. Snap. There went the one painted ward inside that wasn’t in the orb, the absence of its energy covered by the larger loss of the orb. “Only my MOTHER got to call me Sam and You got her killed! I know you did! Last I heard from her she had gotten a call from you. I found her a week later, dead! What did you do!?” 

“Samantha, she chose to go. She-” Snap.

There is the sound of tinkling glass and everyone looks to the right. The remaining Orb of Takaar is in shards, the smoke escaping into the ether. 

“Oops.” Jakobs turns back to us as Crowley speaks.

“Shoot Hi-” Snap. We are both gone, Samantha too, standing outside. Inside there is the sound of scrambling and yelling. Samantha quickly kneels behind a car, ready to take a shot with The Colt as soon as someone steps out. Crowley walks up to the window of the room and knocks on it.

“Out here gents. Fresh air is good for the soul.” The sounds inside stop, and Crowley vanishes away just before bullets shatter the glass. Good timing, as always.

He stands in the middle of the parking lot, just in sight of the window and door. He looks down at the cuffs and snaps, and they open. He sighs and takes them off, holding them with one finger. 

“I really hated these things. Transportable devil’s trap. Worse than the bullets really.” There is a bang and Crowley is pushed backward, bullet in his chest...in the vest. He looks down and picks it out. “Don’t get me wrong, I still hate the bullets.” Samantha looks at Crowley for a brief second, curious, but then returns her gaze to the door in case they are actually stupid enough to come out.

“What do you want Crowley?!” Yells Jakob’s from inside.

“To be bloody left alone! We had a deal Jakobs, it was a good deal, and then you went and broke it!”

“I did not break the deal in the least. Nothing in the contract said any-”

“Yes, nothing about torturing me, but you really hurt my feelings.”

“Crowley, you are a demon, you don’t have feelings, unless you are back on the blood.”

“No, I found something better. In fact…” He pauses. No. No no nonono. I know what’s coming. No. Crowley. No. Don’t make me feel it. 

“I’ll be nice, just one.” Oh thank god. He snaps and one of the men stands before him, gun trained toward the door. Crowley tries to control him, make him pull the trigger, but nothing happens. “Huh. That’s a new trick.” The man spins toward Crowley but he raises his hand and the man speeds towards him, ending with his neck in Crowley’s hand. “More than one then.” No. No. He closes his hand and I can feel the bones crack. Visceral, real. Close. 

It is his newest form of high, of torture. Putting my soul into his body, so he can feel the world through me. I feel this man’s windpipe break beneath what are essentially my hands. I can feel his pulse stop. I can feel his life end. 

No matter how bad these people were, it is a horrifying feeling. Not just because it is murder, but because I don’t have a choice as to who dies. Perhaps, if I got mad enough, scared enough, I could kill a person. Perhaps. But this, this is just extermination, clean up...fun. So it makes me cringe and want to hide in myself. It horrifies me. Makes me feel guilty. And Crowley loves it. The first time he did this, it was a surprise for him, and he had paused for a moment. He hadn’t felt bad about killing for a Long time. Long long long time. It was a novelty he could experience vicariously and not himself, a novelty he could discard if it started to actually affect him. 

It hadn’t. Not yet.

So until I grow used to this too, this is yet another way he can use me. Because Crowley was wrong, I grew used to things. That’s what humans do. Grow used to things. Endure. They did that, or they broke. I haven't broken yet.

I hope one day I will.

Crowley drops the body and wipes his hands together. 

“Next?”

The Men of Letters have a choice now. Get teleported out one by one and be killed, or go on the offensive outside and risk it. 

Two come out the door quickly, one is shot in the leg by Samantha and the other drops from a bullet that seemingly comes from nowhere. 

Dan. 

The one remaining fills the space of the one that fell and uses their body for partial cover with the door frame. They shoot and their bullet hits the tire just in front of Samantha. She flinches and ducks further behind the car. Crowley walks forward slowly. 

“Careful Mooselette. They have guns you know.”

“Shut the fuck up Crowley and Help.”

“If you insist.” He snaps and the neck of the one crawling back inside turns around so he is facing his own back. Thank god, I didn’t have to feel that one. Not all of them are warded. Crowley smiles internally, happy that he has corrupted me so much that I could feel relief when he kills someone a certain way. I’m ashamed, a bit. I’m too busy being terrified of what I will feel next through his hands. He walks forward and there is a shout from around the building. Crowley glances up and sees Jakobs walking around the corner...holding George with his own pistol against his head.

“Sorry guys. She kinda took me by surprise, with magic.” Crowley sighs. Humans.

“Move a muscle and he dies.”

“George!”

“Sam, just do what she says. They want Crowley right, let’s give them Crowley.”

“Standing right here.”

“Oh you’ll be fine, you’ll escape.” Says Samantha. 

“Yes, but it’s a waste of time.”

“The Colt! Kick The Colt over!” Calls Jakobs. Crowley sighs and snaps. The two agents in the door fall to the ground.

“Crowley! She has George! She could have killed him!”

“And give up her leverage with you? Don’t be stupid. She kills him, I do worse to her.” Jakobs stands still. “So, I’d like to make a deal.”

“Now Crowley?!!” Yells Samantha, incredulous and angry that he could think of trying to get souls at a time like this. That wasn’t what this deal was about. Not even close. Crowley slowly starts walking toward Samantha and Jakobs, who thrusts the gun harder against George’s head.

“Always Mooselette. Now, Jakobs wants to learn about me. The only reason this is going on, is because they want information. More than ever apparently, now that I’m working with hunters again. Am I right?” Jakobs is silent. “So, remove her interest, or give her what she wants.” There is silence.

“You’d...do that for us?”

“Hell no. But you have the means right there.” Samantha looks at the gun, then back to Crowley. Jakobs pushes the pistol into George again. 

“Kill him and this one dies!”

“C’mon sweetheart. It’s all my fault. Do it.”

“He’ll die.” Says the newly named Mooselette.

“No he won’t. Trust me.”

“Crowley, I will kill him!”

“I don’t particularly care. However, she does. So if killing me will get you information…” He looks back to Samantha. “Trust me?”

“Never! Jesus H Christ I’m not an idiot!”

“Fair. But we are at an impasse, because if I couldn’t control the other guard I’m assuming that this.” He snaps, and nothing happens. “Will do nothing to you. Warding? Where?”

“Not telling. Now, the Colt.” Says Jakobs again. 

“Darling, all you want to know is if I’m immortal so-”

“No. I want to know everything.” Crowley pauses. 

“Well. That’s a bit of a tall order, but…” The Colt is in his hand. He looks at it. Turns it over. “You know...I did kill myself to save the world once.”

“Crowley…” Jakobs threatens with a shake of the pistol.

“Please. That may work with the girl, but on me? You don’t even have a meat shield any more.” He aims the gun at her. She pauses as Samantha screams. Crowley was right, she had nothing. Unless she was smart.

Which she was. 

She quickly removes the pistol from George’s head...and places it against her own. Crowley blinks, his head tilting; inquiring, intrigued. 

“Huh.”

“It will be a headshot. I will die. And you will not find out how much I know, how much I’ve sent back to Britain. You are smart Crowley, you know you will not be able to possess the bodies of my agents, we do not let that happen. So. Kill me, and you will have to go into the viper’s nest blind to find out what we know. Or...give me the Colt. Come with me, and perhaps we can come up with a deal.”

“Like the one you previously violated?”

“No. An official contract. Signed and notarized.” Crowley pauses, this could still work. He just needed to get George away. He could win in an instant if he didn’t care about maintaining a relationship with these hunters, but he had plans. Long term ones I assumed by how much he wanted them to like, or at least tolerate, him. He sighs. 

“Fine. Although, I know for a fact that there will be no deal once I hand you this. You were being polite. How very British.”

“You are not wrong, Crowley. Now, the Colt if you please?” Crowley sighs in defeat, and with a wave The Colt is on the ground by her feet. Where he wants it. “Excellent.” She kneels, taking George with her, turning him slightly so he is between her and the street, where she thinks the sniper bullet came from. She quickly puts George’s gun in her pocket, and picks up the Colt. While she is kneeling Crowley waves a finger, and one of the dead agent’s gun’s slides under the car. Sam notices, but doesn’t react. 

Instead she waits till Jakobs stands up and yells. 

“Let George go!” 

“No. I do not think so. Not until I am inside and out of sight of your sniper. Crowley?”

“With you darling. Lead the way.”

“No, you first, and no teleporting.” 

“If you insist.”

They walk back into the room, Crowley waving his hands as he enters to move the dead bodies, shift them around so it isn’t as obvious that a gun is missing. 

Ten steps ahead. Always.

“Not always Chew Toy, it’s why I have you. I may have to improvise, and I expect your full assistance.” 

“What?” Jakobs asks as she makes sure that all the guns from her agents are inside. 

“Darling, you wanted me to lay myself bare for you to explore, well, besides getting naked I can’t bare myself more.”

“We are missing a gun.”

“Astute.” She pauses as there is a click behind her.

“Drop him.” George stiffens.

“Samantha, don’t be stupid.”

“Yes Samantha, listen to him. Now. Drop it, or I will drop George, and the landing won’t be what kills him.” 

“Jakobs, just walk in backwards for Hell’s sake and drop the meat.” 

“And open my back to you Crowley? No. Samantha, drop it, and kick it over. George will then pick it up, hand it to me, and I will proceed to enter. Crowley, you will exit the building, now, so I may back in with the gun trained on you.”

“For Hell’s sake.” There is a snap and the gun in Samantha’s hand vanishes, as does Samantha.”

“Where did you send her!”

“A block away. Now can we get on with this! Drop the boy and let’s get down and-”

“Shut up Crowley. Bring the gun back.” There is a snap and the gun apparates just inside the door. “Good, the others inside too.” Jakobs pushes George to the side and to the ground, then enters, closing the door behind her as soon as a snap brings the other guns inside. 

“Now that I have gotten rid of the distraction, shall we get down to business?”

“Darling, you just got rid of your only leverage.” Jakobs blinks. “I do, on rare occasions, lie.”

“I want information Crowley, but I will not hesitate to kill you-”

“Please. Go ahead.” Crowley steps forward, closing the gap, The Colt pointed at his head. 

“Crowley-” He raises his hand, outstretched, reaching for her throat. Three seconds and he would snap her neck the old fashioned way. 

There is a bang.

And we die. 

A-fucking-gain.

The weightlessness and the pull in various directions are normal, expected. The slight sting from a devil’s trap hidden underneath the carpet, is new. He couldn’t hide behind a soul in this form, so the trap is a bit more effective. He swirls against it, hitting the edges and throwing himself against the invisible walls.

He didn’t like this, but it was an inconvenience at best. Until she quickly drags his body out of the circle.

Then he is mad. But he is incensed when she begins to search his body… And of course finds the jar. 

“And what do we have here? A baby soul? I’ve never seen one before. Is it your pet?” She holds it up to Crowley who thrashes, pure hate consuming him, and therefore me. She chuckles and tries to open the jar. Black lightning emerges from the lid and snakes up her hand. Her whole body tenses until it reaches her head, after which she shakes and it dissipates.

“Well, I guess we will have our curse breakers look at that later.” Jakobs sets it down and takes a closer look at the demon she has trapped. “Fascinating. What are these white specks in your smoke?” Crowley can’t respond, and she can’t very well reach in and take one, she’d lose a hand. Probably. I didn’t know exactly how it worked, but I assumed it’d suck for her. 

_ “It would. I hope she does.” _ Jakobs circles him, us.

“And these two orbs… are those souls? Are you just keeping them with you? Why?” Crowley fumes and thrashes against the edges, flying up to the ceiling and slamming back down, causing the room to shake with the force. I am filled with his anger, and with that seeps in all the things he wants to, is going to do, to this woman. It is... A lot.

“So...how to study this...Shall we start with electricity? I would like to have you to myself a bit before the rest of them. I’d like to see if I can get you to drop one of those souls.”

Throw me. Crowely could drop me. I could distract her…

_ “To what purpose Chew Toy?”  _ I don't know… I don’t really know, but I hate being imprisoned. I had made my own prison with Crowley; this one, was one neither of us had chosen. Inside the smoke, I felt confined, but it felt infinite. Here, I can see the cage, and I hate it. Really hate it.

_ “Well, we agree on something. Would you care to assist me with her when I get out?”  _ I mean, that really depends on what that fucking means. He is immune to most forms of damage and...stuff, in this form, but it was boring and he can’t touch shit. ...Can he be touched though? He can be manipulated by symbols… magic...what else?

_ “I think we are about to find out.”  _ Jakobs is returning with a container. It is glass and lightning like energy sparks inside it like a tiny storm. She doesn’t even speak, she just takes the jar, and throws it at the ground in the center of the circle. It doesn’t break, because carpet, but it does send flashes of thunderless lightning up into the air. They slash through Crowley’s smoke, finding a home in the red cloud. One hits me and I am thrown upward. Crowley races after me, ignoring his own pain, focused more on what I might tell Jakobs if I fall out of the circle. 

“Interesting.” She pauses and goes to her phone. A call is placed. “Gregory. Execute order 23 around my location. I want roads blocked off and a retinue of cars outside the building with FBI markings. This will be extraction after I conduct some studies, we will conduct more here in the states before returning. Yes, there were some losses. Of course I have him. No, you can read about it in my report. Yes. Keep me updated.” 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. I did not want to be the property of the Men of Letters. Noooo fuck no. After they finished ‘researching’ me, I’d either be stuck on a shelf and catalogued, or used as a bargaining chip. I do not know which was worse. I do not want to find out. Fuck. Crowley, plan, please have a plan. Fuck. This is not great. I’d go over how twisted it was that I’d prefer to be with the demon who tortured me than these guys, but for now, bigger fucking proooblems! Crowley is silent, if he has a plan, he isn’t sharing it. Perhaps in case I get captured, perhaps because he doesn’t have one.

Jakobs turns back to us. 

“Shall we try the lightning again?”

……………………

Holy fire burns the carpet beneath us, and Crowley is recoiling a bit. It isn’t hurting as much as it should, but it still fucking hurts. We had been painfully poked and prodded for three hours. Jakobs had taken hundreds of notes, on paper interestingly. She is doing so now, when there is a knock.

She pulls the Colt out and heads to the door. Holding it up at waist level she looks through the peephole. She puts the pistol away and then opens the door. 

“Martinez, about time.”

“Apologies. Th-”

“Save it. Get the transfer equipment. We are moving now. Type three.” The man named Martinez is round faced with a near pencil thin mustache and wiry hair. He is thickly built and obviously ready for a fight. Despite that he looks nervous at the mention of whatever type three is. 

“Ma’am. Type three is extremely risky. Why not use a meat-”

“Because he broke out of enochian handcuffs while in a meatsuit, but cannot break out of the circle now. So. Type three.” Well that show of power had come back to bite his smoke. “And get me an artifact transport box.” At this the aforementioned Martinez looks at the gun and his eyes widen.

“Is that...”

“I cannot say. It did not kill him, but he is supposedly ‘immortal’ according to the renegade demon. So. Pack it.” Oh good, they don’t know. 

Two other men come in with a large slate of metal, a devil’s trap engraved on it. They slide it under Crowley, careful not to stick any extremity inside the current circle. Crowley thrashes, nearly hitting them in the face, but they don’t flinch. They pick up the metal and, after scratching the circle beneath, carry it to the door. We move with it. Shit. I briefly wonder what would happen if they hadn’t scratched the other circle. 

“ _ I get to choose where I stay, unless there is the slightest imperfection or tilt. If the circles aren’t perfectly parallel, I get to leave.” _ Jeez, yeah, type three is dangerous. They should really have a rolly thing _. “I'll be sure to let their corpses know.” _

There is a large armored truck outside, open and waiting like a cage for a dog. Inside is a table with latches to hold the metal sheet, and a myriad of tools and more equipment that did not look friendly. 

We are carried outside and are half way to the truck when one of the men drops to the ground. The metal falls with a clatter and Crowley flails as it spins, grabbing hold of the other agent and twisting. He couldn’t possess the man, but he could sure as Hell throw him. 

Like a scene from a fucking Japanese monster movie Crowley throws the man into the air and then slams him into the wall, brains visible from the split skull.

Two more men, one being Martinez, come out from nearby cars and one drops immediately from another silent gunshot.

Dan. He hadn’t fucking moved an inch for the hours we were inside. Jakobs figured the hunters would have left after she got Crowley. She was very wrong. I can’t say Crowley and I weren’t surprised either. There were a number of reasons to stay, but many in favor of leaving as well. It wasn’t betrayal if they honestly didn’t think they could succeed. Retreat and try again with better supplies. If they never ended up thinking they were ready, well they could be dead before Crowley escaped. 

The other agent ducks behind the truck as Jakobs comes out. 

“What is going-” 

There is a blur and the other agent is knocked to the ground, a slightly furry creature on top of it. The agent’s throat is ripped out by claws moments later.

“ _ Huh. Hello Dan.” _ Yeah, a lot of surprises today. Also...Then who was on the roof? Jakobs rushes back inside for the Colt and Dan growls, eyes glowing as he starts to chase after her.

“Dan, run! I got this!” George is running forward full tilt toward us. Dan looks at the body below him for one second before, with great effort, he turns and runs. Jakobs returns to see the werewolf running away, and George running forward. She takes aim and shoots…

And George slides into the devil’s trap like it’s home base and the guy batting had hit a pop up.

“NO!” 

It was too late. Crowley has a meatsuit. I could only thank Hell that he had as much presence of mind, or smoke, as he did, because he drops both the other soul and I as he enters his new suit. Jakobs is shooting with The Colt...and nothing is happening. It’s out of bullets. Why would Crowley load more than two after all. He needed one to ‘kill’ him, and one in case, by some freak accident, the first missed. Jakobs was so enthralled with her research she had forgotten to check the chambers. 

Crowley stands and dusts himself off. With a smile he walks over the circle and up to Jakobs, who drops the gun and runs back inside. As soon as he is out of the circle he bursts out of George and rushes back to his own vessel. George shakes himself and looks down at the two orbs of light. Both of them starting to float into the room. 

“Uh…Nooooo?” He reaches out and grabs me.

_ “Hey! Listen!” _

George stares at the white blue orb in his hand. 

“Re...Really?”

_ “Oh my god, wouldn’t you? Like Crowley would be amused by that reference.” _ After the initial joy at finally being able to use the joke I only thought of After leaving the bunker the first time, we stand at a very metaphorical crossroads. The King of Hell could be killed right now...If the woman inside had the means, which she could. Maybe. If he died I was free. If he died, who knew how bad the next demon to take over Hell would be. If he died, I’d probably be tortured by angels or demons. Right now, the numerous bits of souls he had were enough to help him resist holy water, salt, but he still needed a full soul as well as those small bits for the big stuff, like getting out of a trap, or dying. Right now... He could theoretically perish… if he hadn’t kept a big spark from his current contract. 

If we didn’t help him and he survived… But if he died I could be free…. But what freedom entailed. All of this passes through my head in seconds when George speaks.

“He can help my friend.” And with an arm that tells me he played first base, he throws me inside. I zoom through the air towards Crowley, towards the jar in his pocket. 

Inside Jakobs and Crowley are in a standoff. Crowley standing in front of the door, Jakobs with a gun surely loaded with devil’s trap bullets. They are staring at each other as I fly in and curve toward Crowley’s pocket. Crowley doesn’t even look, he just snaps and my trajectory changes. Jakobs watches in fascination as I fly home, presenting a spectacle that looks very much like I’m being eaten. He pushes me around, starts the shower curtain strategy, and then Crowley cocks his head and smiles at Jakobs.

“They tingle going down. Now...where were we?” Jakobs frowns.

“I was about to put you down with the weight of-”

“Of what? A devil’s trap? You know how well that worked out.” Crowley pauses, and snaps. There is an exclamation from outside and the other soul rushes towards him. Jakobs shoots, and the bullet does indeed start to hold him...but the other soul is already on its way home. The shot had come too late. As soon as the soul settles next to me Crowley straightens and looks at the hole in his coat, and shoulder, and looks back up.

“Ow.” 

He’s beside her, not playing games this time, one hand around her throat, the other tearing the gun from her hand. It clatters to the ground with finality and for a brief moment there is silence.

“My turn love. We are going to have such fun, you and I.”

And the door to the room slams close.

  
  


Ten hours this time, and I got to feel each and every second through his hands. I am numb. I knew the feeling of flesh under blade when I was alive, but not like this. Never like this. There is so much blood, and Jakobs is still alive. Somehow. Despite missing fingers, sliced open muscle, burned eyelids, pulled teeth...and worse. Somehow she is still alive. 

“There is no somehow, Chew Toy, she is alive because I want her to be.” That is true. Crowley wipes off his hands with one of the towels from the bathroom and looks at the woman before him. Tired, broken, but somehow proud and defiant. She gave up her secrets, finally, not but 20 minutes ago, but she still looks at Crowely with hate and fire. “Don’t worry, I’ll cut that out of her in our next session.” There is a yell at the door and a growl. Crowley looks up at Jakobs while he finishes wiping off his favorite scalpel.

“Your ride is here.” With a single finger the door opens and growling fills the room as Jakobs looks up at the nothing that is squishing bodies beneath its paws. “Growley. Fetch for papa.” 

There is a loud growl and a last scream from Jakobs as she is rent apart by teeth she can only see with her last breath. Crowley cleans off the next implement as he watches his pet devour not just the soul, but the body, the clothing, and some of the bones.

“Good girl. Now...do you have room for more?” The Hellhound looks up at this, and Crowley points to the rest of the bodies. “I know you’re eating for thirteen now.” Huh. Did Not know that. As the demonic dog heads over to the other bodies Crowley waves and sends his tools back to Hell. “Just over a month ago. Should have pups in another 2 to 15 months.” What? That...what? “Hell darling. Depending on what they eat, they grow fast or slow. Hell isn’t exactly great at Creating new life. So, for new pups…” She needs to eat the weight of what the pups will be. “Bingo.” He walks out of the room and into the parking lot. George and Samantha have burgers, fries, and ribs set out in the back of the transport truck. Dan has some raw meat, rabbit, from what Crowley can tell. Fresh. And by the bones on the ground, the fourth one. 

“Running around suburbia hunting rabbits?” Dan growls, a sound far different than what we have heard from him before. He had hidden his condition well. 

“Sniped em. Were terrorizin the communal garden. Won’t no more.” He says from back in the truck, out of sight from the ‘normies.’

Samantha looks through the door at the bodies slowly disappearing, and takes a bite from her own burger.

“Pet?”

“Her name is Growley. Want to pet her? She bites.”

“Yeah, no. So. You find out what you need?”

“Got a cloud password, and confirmation that the files cannot be downloaded without another password from her.”

“And if she’s lyin?” Asks George through a mouthful of fries. Crowley looks at the hunters, some covered in blood, watching an invisible force eat corpses in front of them, while they eat their own dinner.

“Darling, that’s what viruses are for. And bombs. And further torture sessions until her soul turns into putty.”

“You can do that? I thought souls couldn’t be destroyed?” Says Dan through what I think is a leg. 

“With specific types of torture.”

“Like?” Asks Samantha.

“Ah-ah. You want info, we make a deal.”

“Ok.” Crowley pauses and looks back from watching Dan inhale a rabbit to Samantha.

“Really?” She puts her burger down.

“You said you could...get rid of the addiction, the urges, for Dan?”

“Darling, with a contract, I can change nearly anything.”

“Ok, then add it to ours.” Crowley thinks, and looks at the group. They had essentially saved him, even if for selfish purposes… I wasn’t sure about that though. And because I wasn’t sure, Crowley is going to ask. If I wasn’t there he would assume it was either self righteous stupidity, or selfishness that brought them back. Since I am there, sowing doubt, he is going to ask.

“Why did you come back? To help?” Dan pauses.

“Job wasn’t done.” He goes back to...I think ribs… and skull. Crowley watches him, then looks at Samantha.

“We have a contract.”

“That would have gone into the ether if I died. That contract was with me, not Hell.”

“Yeah, but it was a deal.” The sound of ice trying to go through a straw in an empty drink comes from the left. George puts his soda onto the front of the car. “We don’t break deals. Well, we try not to. Sides, you can help Dan, right?” Crowley looks at the group, his hunters. They were his now, because they didn’t break deals. Just like him. If they meant this...This could be a very long, multi generational partnership if he played his cards right. He flicks his hand and a contract appears, the short one, it grows 7 inches and new words form.

“Alright.” They all stop eating and look at him. 

“What?” Asks Samantha.

“What do you not understand about that Mooselette? I agree to your terms.”

“Yeah...but there weren’t any. We asked a favor, an addition to the contract, we heard nothing from you.”

“I just changed the wording a bit.” He looks at the contract and reads “‘As long as the parties in question remain in the employ of the party of the first part and complete the jobs requested of them within a timely manner or five years, unless given reprieve or otherwise are unable to complete the job, they shall be healed of all ailments at his behest and shall, suffer no ill effects from unwanted ailments, or parts thereof, obtained during, or prior, to the contract.’” He rolls it up and they stare. “So, are you setting up a kissing booth, or am I just waiting for you to clean barbeque sauce off your lips.”

“No. No. There has to be more than that. You get nothing more from this deal than what you had in the previous one.” 

“Not true. Line two. Definition of parties in question. You three, your descendants, anyone who joins your group, all confirmed by a signature and a kiss.” George stands and Dan growls, leaning forward, the blood in his mouth bringing out the wolf he had kept hidden. Samantha sits.

“And what about under employ… what does that mean? Are we at your beck and call?”

“Same definition as before. You hunt, and if I happen to point your very pretty nose in a direction…” Sam looks at the other two, slowly understanding what Crowley wants, what he wanted from the moment he saw them.

“You want a multigenerational partnership with the group of hunters that live in the bunker. Why?” Crowley tilts his head in admittance.

“If you haven’t noticed, you seem to be adept at saving the world. I’d like to have that on my side, I think we could-”

“And if we have to save it from you?”

“You won’t. I run Hell. I don’t want to run that, and Hell on earth.”

“What do you want?” Crowely sighs loudly and rolls his eyes. 

“To be king and collect souls.” 

“Any why should we let you?” Asks George.

“George.” Starts Samantha.

“No, it’s a valid question.” Crowley looks at George for a moment and takes a deep breath. “There is a small village, down in Africa, where it is currently raining. After a three month drought, it is raining. Can you guess why?” There is silence. “A contract. One man sold his soul so his village would have rain, regularly, until he dies in, because I’m such a nice guy, fifteen years.” There is still silence. “Angels don’t answer prayers, never have. But I do. The only difference is I take payment, and I don’t take plastic. So, still want me to stop doing contracts? The parapalegic girl down the street who miraculously started walking three years ago might be a bit sad. She’s in a pageant next week, and the runway isn’t big enough for a wheelchair.” There is still silence. I chuckle. He was good. 

“You are an asshole.” Says Samantha. 

“Yes, but I’m an asshole who grants wishes. So, deal?”

“Take out the descendant shit, for now.”

“I’ll put in a clause for it to be revisited in ten years. There.” There is a snap and once again silence, before the sound of Dan tearing meat apart with his teeth resumes. “So. Kisses?”

“You...are really giving us this, without asking for our souls, just...that when you say jump we jump, within the constraints of our job?” 

“There is a definition for the job of hunter down in Hell. It’s 1,563 pages long. You can read it if you want, but...I’d prefer to get back to work within the next week.”

Samantha nods and looks at Dan and George. 

“We doing this guys? Making a deal with the King of Hell?” Dan doesn’t answer. He gets up and walks towards Crowley. He stands inches in front of him. Fuzzy frizzy beard red and blood stained, wrinkles on his face accented by sweat and dirt. 

“I ain’t never tasted a heart. But I’m hungry. Constantly. For something I ain’t even had. I could be out here fighten, but I can’t, not if the wolf might take over. So yeah, I’m in.” Crowley looks up at him, the man who had helped free him, the man he had big plans for, and snaps his fingers. The blood is gone from his beard, just his beard.

“I left your lipstick.”

The kiss is long for a kiss on the mouth that

doesn’t use tongue, slightly bloody, and pointy. Werewolf teeth after all. Crowley snaps again and he is clean; no blood, not from rabbit, not from his bullet wounds, not from Jakobs. He looks at the others. 

“Anyone else?”

“Me next.” Samantha slides off the truck and wipes her mouth free of rib.

“Mooselette, wonderful.”

………………

Crowley looks at his hunters, his group, and allows himself the slightest smile. 

“Alright. I’m all hot and bothered after the makeout session, so let’s get this over with so I can-”

“Crowley.” Samantha still was having none of his snark or attempts at causing discomfort. 

“Fine.” He snaps and Dan falls to the ground.

“What did you do!” Yells Samantha, grabbing something from her pocket, the Colt. 

“One, that is out of ammo, I know it might have been hard to tell from your sniper’s nest but, darling, check next time. Second. I’m rewriting his bloody DNA! It’s gonna hurt!” We all watch as Dan writhes on the ground. I can’t imagine what he is going through. Fear and hope being brought up so relentlessly with each surge of pain... He twitches, rolls, his body tensing with each movement as if every muscle is being pulled. His features change, fully into his wolf form, and shrink back as he screams...and then is silent. 

“Dan? Dan, you ok?” Samantha kneels down as his form starts convulsing again. “Dan?” 

He rolls over, body tensing with heavy breaths from crying.

“Samantha...It’s gone Samantha. I’m...I’m not hungry.” Samantha holds the man who must be at least 20 years her senior as he cries on her shoulder. “I’m not hungry. ‘M not hungry. Not hungry.” 

George stands over them, eyes watchful, making sure nothing is sneaking up on them. Crowley coughs and Samantha and George look at him.

“So...Spread the word. Work with me and you get benefits. Work against me and I strap you to a spit and roast you with sulfur to make Hellhound treats.” He waves his hand and the Colt appears in it. “I’ll just keep this safe unless you need it… Tah.”

And we are gone.


	22. The Bones Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which bones are burned.

We sit in his office in California, a pile of bones on the desk. Crowley’s. He wants every possible weakness eradicated. This is the next one. We weren’t certain if the contracts would cover this type of death. They should, but we couldn’t be sure. That’s why he had waited a bit longer, about a year, while he did all the research he could. It didn’t help.

His new meat suit is a bit bloody, after all he had to make sure there wasn’t a soul in it to tell anyone about his plans when they died. So the person of course had to die first. The middle aged African American man was brought in by a group of demons who were then dismissed completely. Only the guards outside the house remain. 

“So what did you recommend I do? Exactly?” He asks. I repeat my earlier thought that I’d grind em up. Can’t burn something scattered to the four winds. “There are certain spells…” Then you have to burn em yourself Crowley, in a controlled experiment. “I know!” He sighs. He looks in the corner, at his preferred meat suit, sitting in a chair surrounded by a protective circle. Sure he had ‘killed’ himself before, but this was different, this was a bit more personal. Saying goodbye to the past, albeit a past he hated, it is still a tad difficult. He steels himself and looks at his bones. 

“Goodbye Fergus.” He snaps and the bones ignite. 

And so do we. 

The last thing I remember is pain, all encompassing like the first time he took refuge in my soul. Then darkness. 

Right now however, there is just whistling and a feeling of freedom, but that vanishes and I am confined again briefly before my consciousness fades again. 

When I awake once more it is late evening, probably nine or ten, and some of the lamp lights over head flicker as Crowley passes beneath them. 

“Good of you to finally join us.” His voice is light, recognizable. The artist from earlier. “Yes, sad that it happened this soon, but the saying “15 minutes of fame” came from somewhere. People just don’t take it literally enough.” I shudder, a feeling, an idea, a memory, but I shudder as best someone without a body can. The contracts for every soul after me were twice as convoluted with three times as many loopholes and ways for Crowley to collect early. It was a loophole I had fortunately found, but in my contract it didn’t include a subsection mandating that if Crowley left a person’s vessel with their soul at any time, he had freeheld ownership. 

And that’s what he is about to do. This young artist’s body would have fame for as long as it survived, but their soul would be quite gone. If I could feel sick I would. I knew for a fact that if I hadn’t gone over my contract with him in such detail he wouldn’t have asked me for suggestions on how to better utilize and hide the loopholes I had found, and gotten rid of, in mine. 

Of course if I hadn’t been so thorough we might be in a different situation right now. ...Perhaps I could help the woman. She could take over the role I had when I was alive. Get the guards and care I had, she’d need the carvings in her bones and-

“I’m not wasting time training a new bitch when I already have one who heels on command darling.” Well, at least I tried. “You did, even if it was just to placate your guilty conscience.” I mean, he isn’t wrong, but that’s half of the reason people do things; because otherwise you feel guilty. I guess demons don’t really feel guilt. “Guilt free for over 300 years.” He walks, looking at the lights fizzle and flicker with the energy he is exuding, I wonder if three full untainted souls would be too much. Too much information, too many choices, too many voices. Crowley ignores my pondering, confident in his abilities, more than I was. 

It was true he couldn’t let go of this soul, not unless he wanted to spend resources protecting her, not unless he trusted her fear of him to keep her quiet. She probably didn’t fear or respect him like I did, didn’t have the strange twisted Stockholm syndrome I had developed over the years. She might break and he can’t have that, not yet. I can feel his intentions, and I weep for the young girl. 

Crowley smokes out of the vessel in a nearby ally, taking three bright lights with him and leaving an angry husk. The night air whips up wisps of his red smoke and the bits of souls glitter like stars as they are tossed about. He rushes up the side of the building and from the roof begins the journey back to his office. 

It’s a short trek, and the two demon guards stand aside as the telltale red smoke of their king rushes through the side doors. 

Both guards die not long after, and for good reason. There's one too many empty chairs in his office. 

Crowley’s favorite meat suit is gone. 

………………

His office is in ruins, the smoke alarms are going off, two demons are dead, and Crowley is furious. He knew the body had been taken, and he did not know by who, where it was, or why. For once he is completely in the dark and he does not like it. He has research to do. 

Fifteen minutes later we are back in the artist. He finds her about to destroy half of her paintings, getting a cruel glee from ripping apart canvas. The soul beside me rejoices when we just manage to stop her in time, Crowley doesn’t care. He leaves immediately and walks back to the office where his meat suit was and grabs his phone from his desk. He dials the number and informs his personal clean up crew to come remove any trace of bodies and his personal forensics crew to look for any trace evidence before hand. He then sits and thinks. Who would dare do this to the King of Hell? Who would dare do this after the show a power he had just given? Someone who is afraid, someone who wanted that power for themself? Perhaps someone who remembered the frequent turmoil and changes of power in the late 1900s when the Hunter family commonly known as the Winchesters was about. How easily power trades hands back then, it hadn’t for sometime now but that didn’t mean it couldn’t again. He listens to my musings and fumes. He had already asked me what my opinion was, and I said I didn’t even begin to have enough information about these demons to help. We can’t put out an apb. We can’t gather the demons together to search for them without knowing who they are. We can’t torture it out of anyone, and the guards, who hadn’t seen anything anyway, are dead. 

Still, someone will pay. A lot of people will probably pay actually. He just has to find them first. He takes the computer out from his desk and hooks into the Wi-Fi. From there he goes to the security cameras within and without the house, and enters his very long password. The footage from the last three hours or so pops up and with a glass of some red drink, he begins the long process of watching it.

About an hour and a half in the forensics crew arrives and they begin sweeping the office, the stairs, the hallways outside ,everything. If evidence of anyone other than the myriad of dead people that were in here since the last deep clean two days ago was here...they would find it. Crowley smartly ground the remains of his burnt bones to dust like I suggested. They weren’t of any use anymore now that they had been burned once anyway, but he wasn’t about to take chances. So dust and to the winds. 

He ignores the crew while they go about and continues watching the tape. About two hours in three trails of black smoke enter through the back window. They circle around before one attempts to enter the protective circle to get at Crowley’s preferred meat suit. Of course it doesn't work. Crowley had made the circle specifically to prevent things from getting in, especially demons. One trail of black smoke leaves and there’s a crash from the back window about three minutes later and a man with red hair walks in and scratches the edge of the circle. Crowley fumes as one of the other trails of smoke enters his preferred body. They all leave through the back broken window and I can feel Crowley flinch at the sight of his suit being torn on the glass. 

He should’ve posted more guards, but he didn’t want anyone to know what he was messing with at the time; didn’t want anyone to even have a chance of glimpsing in the back windows to see that he was burning his own bones. He didn’t need anyone to know about that kind of power yet. And he didn’t trust anyone else to guard his body, with good reason apparently. This was proved doubly true if these demons were so power-hungry or afraid that they would risk stealing their own king’s preferred body to find out what was going on. 

Fortunately the body had been dead for years and didn’t have any new memories to latch onto with a brain that wasn’t exactly firing neurons. But the brain still remembered things from when it was alive, when that first contract happened. And apparently a soul in the wrong body doesn’t form new memories. I didn’t know if the demons could access the body’s original memories at all. 

“Depends on the demon.” Well that is so helpful. Crowley sighs. He downloads the footage onto his phone and his personal private server in the cloud and deletes it everywhere else. He stands and scowls. 

“Let’s go visit mummy dearest, shall we?”

….Wait...What?


	23. The Witch's Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 'witch' we meet a mother.
> 
> Just a friendly reminder that this is a Horror story.

We stand in front of a large but simple door. Four Hellhounds and two demons stand guard. Every inch of the metal door, and every surface for twenty feet around it, including the guards, is covered in sigils. Crowley sighs. He wasn’t taking chances when he made this prison. 

This was where his mother was, and she apparently wasn’t dead. Of course, I should have realized he couldn’t have killed her, she was already dead. 

He frowns, he was in yet another new body, this one far more freshly dead than his mother. He was wearing a suit again, but it didn’t fit with this body’s bright neon red hair or her three ear piercings. I thought the young woman was pretty, Crowley thought it was tacky, but it was the meat suit he could get his hands on the quickest. He sighs and fondles the skeleton key in his pocket. He had fortunately stashed it, and most of his other belongings, in a hole in the ground, some five miles south of his above ground office. 

He didn’t take risks he could avoid. Not unless they were interesting. Not unless the reward was too great not to. Not unless the risk hurt someone else and not him. There were a lot of unlesses, but still...Crowley didn’t take needless risks.Not often, not anymore. 

For instance, the artist had her soul back for now. She wasn’t free though, she was tied up in his room in Hell, being guarded by Growley. Just in case he died. Also, what he was doing right now...was a last resort. He had even come to me first for help for traitors or problems before even contemplating this. 

Before going in there he had also considered using other means to control her. The witchfinder however had been lost, probably melted by Rowena when she was Queen, and that made things even more...precarious in his mind. 

He looks at the door and with a determined exhale unlocks it. He pauses and looks at the guards. 

“If I’m not out, in half an hour, activate the binding rune.” The demons look disturbed. 

“Sir, you’ll be inside…” Crowley looks at the guard, who shifts in place. 

“Are you questioning my orders? Do you think I’m stupid enough, to not know what happens!”

“No sir.”

“Didn’t think so. If she comes out without me, the Hellhounds get a new toy. Understand?”

“Yes sir.” 

“Good. Now, what is my first rule regarding Rowena?” The guards all straighten and speak at the same time. 

“Believe nothing she says.” Crowley nods. 

“And the second?”

“Do not let her cast magic.”

“Third?”

“Do not let her out of your sight.”

Satisfied Crowley straightens the suit and walks in. The doors close behind us, but aren't visible. There is no door to open, just air. Crowley pockets the key and walks towards a rather large house. It is old, very old. It sits atop a rolling hill, sheep grazing in a pasture look up and bound away as we pass. The air has a crisp quality to it, a scent of hay wafting in with each breeze. The sky is covered in a blanket of clouds, the type that don’t do anything besides block out the sun. We walk past a graveyard and Crowley pauses and turns to look at a specific grave that stands out. It is newer than the rest, and has been put atop a plot that has recently been tended to. Crowley frowns and with a snap the gravestone reading Fergus MacLeoud crumbles to dust against another headstone. 

We reach the house minutes later, a long driveway, and enter through the front door without knocking. Immediately to the left is a sitting room, with a tea set at the ready, and a red haired woman pouring tea. 

“So Fergus finally sent someone tah visit me.” Crowley is silent, waiting to find out more about his mother’s current state of mind. This didn’t look like torture to me at all. She looked completely content. Of course, Crowley could have lied to me, well bent the truth. He didn’t really lie, it was too easy. 

We watch the witch pour a second cup of tea. She is tall and lithe, a slightly rounder face than I would have imagined, but the red hair is exactly the same as the show. 

“It’s been years since I had company. It’s been dreadful boring.” Her accent is heavy, heavier than in the show, but she still sounds refined. 

“Even with the house of the lord you loved? Even with the books? The sheep?” Crowley speaks in his current vessel’s voice, and not the one I’ve come to know. Extending the lie for as long as he could.

“Nothing like human interaction darlin’. Sheep are poor substitutes.” She hands Crowley the cup of tea, and Crowley takes it, but obviously doesn’t drink a sip. Too dangerous. She does sip her own however. “So how is Fergus, still the King of Hell is he?”

“Fergus is dead.” At this Rowena pauses for a second, her cup halfway to her mouth. She acts nonplussed, but the cup shakes just a bit. 

“So he finally bit the bouket, saerves him right for killin’ me.” Ah, so he did end up Killing Rowena himself. 

“You took his throne.” At these words, the floodgates break. 

“He was gone! I tried tah get him back! But no! He daedn’t wake oop for me at all, but that stupid hainter of his comes calling tah rekindle their love affair and oof he goes! And where does he go? Tae mae? Naw, he’s oof for a dauner tae the highlands, the lowlands, all paoints bit tae the one that caeres faer him! I haed fianelly waerked through my ain probblems, was waerkin’ oen thaem aet least! He daerent even baether to coeme aboot tah Hell! Not until the bloody Winchesters come afore him to skelp aboot his ain ma so he could pick oop the bloody pieces!” The longer she talked, the more flustered she got, the more she dipped into the Scottish accent. I didn’t understand her at all near the end of her tirade. 

“-so I bide haer in this hoose, scunnered oot of my ain mind, bidin’ for my ain soon tae come pay his ma the time of day! And noo I hear he is died? What’s tae happen tae his Bonnie ma?” Crowley sets the tea down and looks at her in silence. She sighs, takes a deep breath, and calms herself. “At least tell me how he died afore ye cast me into the pits.”

“I burned his bones myself...mother.” The last word is said in what I would consider his normal voice, but is probably nowhere near how he sounded when he was alive. He no doubt had hundreds of accents under his belt, absorbed from his meatsuits, learned, taken out depending on what the situation needed. 

Rowena stares, then stands. 

“Fergus? Noo jist haid on!” Crowley sighs and interrupts. 

“I burned Fergus’s bones mother, he is gone. My name… is Crowley.” 

“Nay! You be hare lyin, manipulatin. Dinnae teach your granny tae suck eggs young bairn o mine, if that you be! Fergus would nay leave his favorite meatsuit withaot raison! You nay be my soon, not even a wee bit!” Rowena is backing away slowly, toward a table with what appears to be decanters of liquor, but I doubted that’s all they were. Crowley faces his mother, and does something I have never seen before. 

“Exactly! Ma! Keep the heid! Ah came here to ask for your help. It could be the baw’s on the slates for us booth if we don’t-“

“Baith! You leave ma haur tae rot, an en boond in askin’ fur mah help! Ye hink-“

“Ye hink this Bonnie hoose was easy tae-“

“I’ll give you a skelpit lug afore Ah help ye Fergus!”

“Ye ken whit will happen if Ah lose mah thrain. Yoo’ll be reit doon in the pits!”

“It main be better than havin tae bide fur mah son tae come apologize for-“

“Ye buggered off with mah thrain!”

“Ah was Keepin it warm for when I got ye back Fergus!”

“It’s CROWLEY!” The entire house shakes. Crowley points to the decanter Rowena is reaching for and every single one explodes. Rowena jumps, startled, and freezes as Crowley slowly stands up. She looks at him with a myriad of feelings; confusion, anger, hate, ...hope. After all, only family could fight like that.

“...Fergus?” Crowley sighs at the question

“Yes mother. It’s me. And I do in fact need your help. So... sit down, and Listen.”

“If-if ye say so Fergus.” Crowley fumes as his mother takes a seat. 

“Fergus, is dead. I burned his bones today.”

“I Dinnae understand Fer-son.” She pauses at the glare. “If ye burned yer bones...how are ye here? Shouldn’t ye be in the Empty right aboot now?” At this Crowley smiles and sits. 

“Mother, in the past few decades I’ve done things you can’t imagine.”

“Like...what?”

“I’ll tell you...someday. Right now every person who knows the details of what I’ve done is a danger to me.” At this Rowena smiles slightly and picks up her tea again. 

“Let me guess, someone knows. Heaven slap it intae ye son, for not visiting your mother sooner.” She pouts, and obvious fake pout. “Ye killed me, stuck me down here, and then dinnae visit for decades!”

“Mother. You tried to Have Me Killed!”

“I could say the same for ye! You actually succeeded! And after I was tryin’ tae bring you back! But I’m willing tah say water under the bridge...for a few things.” Crowley sighs. 

“What do you want Mother?”

“I want the contract on Sam’s soul back, it was mine after all.” Crowley shakes his head. 

“Mother. Do you really think I’d keep that? Why do you think the Winchester’s attacked you? We made a deal. Sam’s contract, for your death. Sounds familiar doesn’t it?”

“Wait, ye dinnae actually follow through Fergus?”

“Mother, I have one rule. I’ve broken that rule twice in my many years as a demon. Make a deal, keep it. Besides, I wanted those two blundering heroes as Far Away From Hell As Physically Possible!” Rowena stares. “Did you really think that Sam or Dean would behave while one of them was in Hell, or even if both were? You saw how Dean was as a demon; great wingman, horrible understudy. They are gone. Forever.”

Rowena sighs. 

“I suppose you’re right Fergus, it was foolish of me to expect to control either of them. So-“

“What else Mother, time is of the essence here.”

“I want out of here!”

“No.”

“I suppose it was a stretch, but-“

“Yes, can’t blame you for trying. Can we move it along!” Rowena pauses, fake ponders her desires for a second and then,

“Visitors.”

“No.”

“What? Ah cannae have a cuppa tea once in a moon with what used to be my subjects!?”

“No. Mother. As much as I hate to admit it, the apple didn’t fall very far from the rotten tree. I know what moves I would make, had I lost, so I have an inkling as to what you would do. So… since I trust neither you nor the demons to have any interaction that will not end horribly for me...I will visit you, monthly.”

“Weekly.”

“Two weeks.”

“You have a deal Fergus.” Crowley twitches. 

“It’s Crowley.”

“Fergus, you will always be Fergus tah me. I bore you from my womb, I named ye. Ah’ll call ye what Ah named ye.” Crowley sighs. 

“In here, where it’s more private.” Both Crowley and I see a sparkle in Rowena’s eyes. Don has been pushed down to the wayside for now. He was still chattering about deals. I was still struck by hearing Crowley’s original voice. I was flabbergasted, and a bit queasy. It did not sound like the Crowley I knew. Rowena speaks, her mind having grasped the obvious. 

“That implies we won’t be here at some point.” Says Rowena. 

“You are correct. I need you to find three demons for me. Immediately.”

“So, in exchange for bi-monthly visits from mah own kin, I cast a locatin’ spell for ye? It dinnae seem quite fair.”

“Mother. You also get to keep the house. And not be in the pits.”

“Is a change of scenery too much to ask for?”

“Yes.”

“No Fergus! It is not!” Crowley sighs. 

“Fine. I’ll add to our deal that every third time we meet, I shall take you for a walk, on a leash, of iron, to a place we both agree upon. Like say, the Bermuda Triangle.”

“That sounds lovely dear, except for the chains. I’m not your pup.”

“No. You’re a bitch who will not only bite the hand that feeds it, but shit on the bed as well. So. Chains. Now if we are in agreement?” Rowena stares for a moment then nods slightly. 

“Very well Fergus.” Crowley relaxes the slightest bit and takes out his phone. He opens the video showing the demons stealing his body and shows his mother. 

“Are those your bones darling?”

“Yes, focus. Can you locate the demons?”

“Not without visiting that place first. I need at least something of theirs to work with.”

“They left nothing.”

“There is always somethin’.”

“My forensics team-“

“Dinnae have magic darlin’.” Crowley sighs. He takes out his phone and dials a number. 

“Bring the iron cuffs, the chain, and the constructed vessel. The Witch is coming out with me. Also get Croney, the door will need to be moved.”

“Croney? that lovely old Demon witch in the pits?” 

“Yes mother, and she hated you very much. She, was the one who actually assisted me in getting hold of Sam’s contract. She hates any witch born after 100 AD. Now. Shall we?” Rowena looks a bit angry for a second, but then nods and follows Crowley down out of the house past the graveyard. As we walk past it she pauses. 

“I see you still have a bit of an anger issue regardin’ the time your bones were first found?”

“No, I have a problem with you putting up a grave for someone I just killed when I haven’t even had a decent funeral for them yet.”

“Yer not dead yet darling.”

“Fergus is dead. And not a word about the bones to anyone or I will cast you in the pits and enjoy a month there with you myself.”

“Promises and threats don’t mean anything if ye don’t intend to actually follow through Fergus.”

“Mother, you have No idea what I intend.”

We reach the empty space where the door was Crowley holds up a hand and knocks on thin air. A line appears in space and the door opens revealing a demon who is holding a body that looks similar to Rowena. As soon as Rowena steps out of the prison her body melts into a grey orb with a slight trail of smoke. She tries to rush to the left and to the right in the hallway, flee; but each time she meets an invisible wall as the runes and sigils carved into the stone light up. 

“Sorry mother. I posted a no smoking sign just for you. So, if you would be so kind?”

The orb floats and exudes smoke for a moment, while Hellhounds growl, and the guards look upon it with indifference. Soon it swirls around and enters the vessel Crowley has provided that is already wearing a set of chains and cuffs. 

As soon as the soul is fully in the body it shifts. Rowena stretches and looks sideways at Crowley.

You would’ve done the same dear.” 

“Yes, I would have. And to that fact.” He snaps and Rowena screams clutching her stomach. I cringe at the sound, because under it the sound and smell of bubbling burning flesh becomes apparent. Crowley stands unmoved as his mother glares at him from the corner of her eye, still clutching her stomach. “You can’t leave that meatsuit even if you wanted to mother. So, no fleeing away to the ends of the earth. And don’t bother trying to mar that glyph, it’s on your stomach lining too.” Crowley looks back-and-forth to the guards on either side. “You have your instructions. See to it that it’s done before I return.” The guards nod and Crowley looks at Rowena and with a snap we are gone. 


	24. The Demon Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which revenge is had.

We arrive in his office and Rowena stumbles a bit, not quite used to this type of travel anymore. 

“Steady mother, wouldn’t want you to break an ankle before, well… I think I’ll pass on the threats for now. So let’s get down to business, what do you need?“

She Ignores him for a moment and looks around nodding in approval, enjoying the fact that she’s not looking at the same scenery she has for the past however long. I’m sure she could go to other houses and move around there but I doubt she could teleport to anywhere that didn’t look like Scotland.

“Give me a moment darlin’, taking the surroundin’s in to see if I can actually find anythin’ on my own first.”

”You won’t mother.”

“Not even of your old meat suit?”

“Mother, if I kept around anything that could be used to locate it do you think I would not have Done That Already! Keeping anything like that around invites people to use it against me.”

“Fine. I need an obsidian knife, matches, red moss, a quartz crystal-“

“Mother, do you take me for an idiot? Those are the components for a banishing spell.”

“So ye do remember what I taught ye.”

“Painfully so. Now, what do you actually need for whatever spell you’re going to use to acquire something that you can then use for your second spell that will show me how to acquire something else? This convoluted fetch quest is becoming tiresome, so let’s hurry this along shall we?”

She looks at her son for a moment confused, he had used a term that he really normally wouldn’t, one that in the two months of pretending to be me and then 5+ decades he had been with me he had learned. It was too apt to the situation to not use. Still it wasn’t a normal thing to hear from Crowley’s mouth, at least as she knew him, and both he and I knew it as soon as he finished the sentence. Rowena knows it too, but ignores it for now. 

“Fergus I need charcoal, a bowl, flint and steel, a quartz crystal, sulfur, fennel, and knife. That is it for the spell, but I’ll need a prism afterwards.”

“And that will allow you to, what exactly?”

“Sift through all the different essences that the spell gathers to find the ones yer looking for.”

He sighs but with a snap the ingredients appear on his desk. He stands to the side as he watches very carefully what Rowena does and says. 

“Mother. I will remove the cuffs. If I hear a single syllable I recognize from-“

“Yes Fergus. I get the gist.”

Soon enough the makeshift vessel is bleeding. I don’t want to know how Crowley makes these vessels or what he makes them out of, but apparently they are human enough to have blood that works in magic because as soon as the blood hits the bowl, sparks fly. Mist encompasses the room, seeping from the bowl in clouds before it’s sucked down into the quartz nearby in a whirl of colors. Both Rowena and Crowley bend over to look into the quartz crystal. Inside a bit of red smoke wisps around between a lot of black and even more bluish white.

“So the black is them then?” Crowley asks.

“Probably, and a bit of every other demon that’s ever been in here. That’s why I need the prism... and a clock. With those I should be able to figure out what black smoke was in there the most recently.”

With a snap a clock appears on the desk. It is flat and basic but Rowena nods in approval and sets the quartz crystal on top of it. She bends over and while incanting holds the prism to the side. 

“Tempus revealeo recantor spiritus.” As soon as the incantation ends, red smoke begins to whisper out of the quartz crystal into the prism. She waves it away as it comes out and it vanishes, barely a memory. Black quickly follows out of the quartz and into the prism; first one bit, and then another, and then another. As soon as the third bit finishes coming out of the crystal Rowena takes the quartz off the clock and everything stands still. She holds up the prism and watches as black smoke swirls in it slowly.

“There ye go Fergus. The essence of three demons nicely packaged and ready to use.”

With a snap the rest of the ingredients are cleared away, and a few ones I recognize from the show appear. 

“What else do you need for a scryin’ spell that finds three people. I need to know where each of them are.”

“Depends on how close they are to another. We’ll find out won’t we, but I do need some sage and more sulfur since we are specifically looking for demons.”

Another snap and ingredients appear on the desk. Rowan nods and begins the spell. Soon enough the bowl of water nearby begins to ripple and both Crowley and Rowan once again bend over the desk to observe. 

In the bowl we can see Crowley's meat suit, Mark Sheppard’s body, sitting in a dark featureless room. The red head and one other person none of us recognize sit with him and talk over a table. We can’t hear what they were saying so-

“They’re talking about a soul dearie, and new forms of contracts?” Apparently Rowena could read lips. Whether this would help or hurt Crowley, remains to be seen. 

“Bollocks.”

“Do ye know what they are talkin’ about? Did ye come up with a new contract?”

Crowley stays silent for a moment pondering the situation. 

“Not now Rowena. What else are they saying, since you can apparently read lips.”

Rowena turns back to the bowl and squinting moves her hands in a widening gesture. The image zooms in a bit and with a tilt of her hand angles so that the face of the person across from Crowley’s meat suit is more visible; she then turns her hand and the image rotates until we are facing the visage I associated with Crowley the most. 

“They’re talking about... I must admit I’m a wee bit confused… I must be readin’ it wrong...a contract that doesn’t fully take ownership of a soul once the deal is done.”

At this Crowley smiles. They knew what the meat suit knew and the meat suit did not fully understand that contract. After all the person who knew the truth had been pushed down into nothingness for most of its life. I had a feeling Crowley was not entirely honest about having taken over the body at 21; after all what better way to get someone to trust you then with the face of a little kid. Kids were either adorable or creepy as fuck, there was no in between. I get a feeling from him though, that I am wrong. I don’t know how, but now that I’m thinking a bit more on it the times might not match up. Maybe. I was never good with time, or dates, or numbers. 

Rowena continues her distant voyeurism after a glance at Crowley confirms he’s not going to say anything.

“Darlin, they are saying that this is grounds for, my goodness, removing ye from yer spot as king.”

Crowley’s eyes narrow. This was not just a mutiny or an attempted regicide, it was an insult that they thought they could wrest the throne from him. Rowena watches them, saying bits and pieces of their conversation, waiting for them to talk of their plans. 

“Can you find where they are mother?”

“Aye. But-“ suddenly Rowena freezes. She stares at the bowl, then to her son. Crowley raises a brow. 

“Yes mother, do you have something interesting, or perhaps Useful to share?”

“Fergus, ye’ve been turning demon souls human?” At this both Crowley and I stiffen. There was no way that the meat suit would have known about this. It had died right after our first soul meeting. That the demons knew about this meant only one thing. 

There was a mole. We had been tailed. There was a traitor. Only one demon knew about the secret cupboard. The cupboard that would lend credibility to the claims. Make the demons brave enough to risk their lives to get more dirt they could use against Crowley. 

“Lionel.” Crowley goes to snap his fingers when his mother grabs his hand. Crowley is about to blast her across the room when- 

“Fergus, wait! Please!” Crowley sighs but lowers his hand and waits. Rowena let’s go and takes more than a few cautionary steps back. “Fergus, is it true? Have ye been turnin’ demon souls human?” Crowley sighs. 

“You disapprove, mother?”

“I have no idea! I don’t know why ye’ve done it! Why ye’ve lessened the ranks of Hell! Made it weaker!!” She looks at Crowley, who just stands there, head tilted, looking at his mother. “So why Fergus?” Crowley raises a brow and takes a step forward. 

“Do you really want to know mother? Do you, truly, want to know what I’ve been doing with those souls?”

“Yes Fergus! I’ve asked haven’t I!?”

“Well then, mother, you will have to sign the mother of all NDA’s.”

“Fine!”

“No. You don’t quite grasp the level of this. There will be no contract.”

“Excuse me? Then how-“

“You will be locked in your prison, unable to leave that body, unable to talk to anyone but me. You won’t be able to talk to Yourself out loud until I deem it safe that you can utter a word. Every item even possibly used in witchcraft will be removed from that house. You won’t be able to cast a single spell for Years, perhaps decades, if you want to find out about this. If any one comes within 100 feet of you without me around you will be immediately sent to me. And, if you even think about attempting to break out of this, I will put you through what those souls go through. Every bit of it. So, mother, do you still want to know what I’ve been doing these past decades that has every single demon you knew more afraid of me than they Ever were of Abbadon!?” Rowena steps back, and leans against a shelf, afraid for a split second, before recovering her courage. 

“Fergus, the demons never respected ye, and most of them didn’t fear ye when I was Queen. I doubt-“ 

“Ah, right. You haven’t heard of the shows that spawned my new army, or my new abilities.”

“Shows...New...army? Fergus ye aren’t making a lick o’ sense.” It’s time for me to chuckle. She had been out of the loop for a very very long time. I had to wonder if she even knew what the internet was. 

“Again, do you want to know...or not?”

“Of course I want to know Fergus, but I-“

Crowley doesn’t wait for explanations or what ifs or whys. He snaps his finger and Rowena screams as she smokes. Her clothing burns in odd patches all over, and even on her face I see sigils light up briefly before vanishing. 

“Have some sticks and stones for all the words you threw at me as a child. Now,-“

“What have ye done Fergus?!” She leans a bit against the wall and pants. Hair in her face and a confused glare in her eyes. 

“Enacted the first part of our agreement, …Now you already can’t leave that vessel Croney helped design. It isn’t her most elegant work, we were on a time crunch, but it lets me do this.” He makes a familiar gesture with his hand, the one made when you’re telling someone to shut up. Rowena blinks and stands, and speaks. 

And no sound comes out. Crowley smiles a slight smile and chuckles but once. Rowena claws at her mouth, angry. She makes gestures trying to enact some sort of spell. Crowley rolls his eyes and makes the same gesture, but runs his thumb across his palm afterward. 

“-o yer own mother! I…” Rowena pauses, looks at her son and nods. “Thank ye, for allowin’ me to be part o’ the conversation, Fergus.”

“It’s the only conversation you’ll be part of, for years. So, keep an eye on that bowl and let’s get to work. We’ve made a deal, and I’ll keep it. After we reclaim my meatsuit.”

“Ye don’t trust me to-“

“No. Now, before I was so rudely interrupted.” Crowley snaps his fingers and the ingredients for a summoning appear on the table. “Prepare the usual summoning spell.” Rowena nods, splitting her attention between the spell, the bowl, and what her son is doing. 

Crowley opens a drawer in his desk and a bag with vials upon vials of blood rattle in it. 

“Still fighting with that blood addiction I see.”

“Actually, no. I’ve found something far better.” 

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Later.” I watch as he grabs a few vials and a bowl. He empties the vials into the receptacle and as the blood hits the air I can tell at least one of the vials is mine. Somehow, I just know. 

“Such wonderful memories darling. Now, help me paint?” Rowena stares at her son as I chuckle at Crowley’s plan. 

“I’m preparin’ the spell, I can’t very well do that and help ye paint.”

“I wasn’t speaking to you mother, not everything is about you.”

“Fergus, there ain’t anyone else here.” Crowley is smiling as he puts the bright red hair of his current meatsuit into a pony tail. I would be smiling too if I could. He was simply torturing his mother with questions and confusion by talking to me as he normally did. 

“Well, I’d say you’re wrong, but it would be easier to show you.” 

I feel pressure, then pain, as Crowley forces his way into my soul. He pushes me into every aspect of this body, and I gasp. He was once again hiding behind me like a shower curtain. It hurts a bit, and I stagger and cough. 

I cough. Not Crowley. Me.

“ _ Seventy percent tenancy in common of your soul, my favor. Control of the vessel...well let’s let that be a moment to moment decision. On my part of course. Now. Paint, and do try to confuse mummy dearest for me.” _

I sigh, and grab a paintbrush from the drawer. 

“Fergus?” I hear the question tentatively behind me. 

“No. Not right now. Hello Rowena.” My voice sounds like my own, somehow. I had a feeling that was Crowley’s doing, but I appreciated it. Even if it was just to confuse his mother more. 

“Who...where is mah son?! I can’t be talkin’ to ye! It’s physically impossible according to him!” I laugh and bend down to the floor with the blood. 

“No, very possible, you see, Crowley owns my soul.”

“Wait, ye’re the person he’s possessin’? And he gave ye control!!?” I shake what is now my head and start painting the star with Crowley showing me the design in the back of my head. 

“No Rowena.”

“Then why would ...Who are ye!?”

“I’m nobody Rowena, but c’mon. It’s not hard to figure out.”

“Ye have to be important or my son, the King of Hell, wouldn’t let ye ride around like that in his meatsuit!”

“I’m only important because of how long I’ve been here.” I pause as I dip my brush in the blood again and wait for approval from Crowley, verbal, well mental, before talking. As soon as I get it I look at her; with her hands pointing at me, ready to do some heinous spell or other. I smile with a mouth that isn’t my own. “Rowena, that first contract they are talking about, that was mine.”

Rowena stares as I finish the demon trap. 

“So ye’ve been here for...how long then? To be so buddy buddy with my son.”

“We aren’t buddies Rowena. And I’m not telling you more lest it violate the contract. He won’t tell me if it is still valid or not.”

“Yer….contract is still active?”

“ _ It is. Barely.” _

“That’s the beauty of it Rowena. That is the only reason I’m special.”

“ _ You may tell her.” _

I close the outer circle and stand, looking over my work. It took up all the space from the desk to the door, a good 20 feet, and it was perfect. 

“My contract doesn’t have an end date Rowena.” I feel myself yanked back and around as Crowley takes control of the body through my soul. He had freeheld ownership now, he didn’t need to follow the rules we had when I was alive. He just changed that tendency in common percentage to whatever he wanted. The body straightens and Crowley coughs, throws the brush into the bowl and snaps it away, 

Rowena stares. 

“Hello mother. Getting a glimpse behind the curtain now are we? Satisfied yet?”

“Fergus, why would ye share ownership of somethin’ ye could have complete control over?!” 

“You’ll see. Summon Lionel. Into the trap if you please.” Rowena pauses, uncertain, and Crowley raises a single brow. “Now.” Rowena swallows and nods, then starts the spell. Crowley turns to watch the circle. Soon, the white haired Lionel is standing in it. He looks frantically about, and then see’s Rowena. 

“Que- Uh. King mother, does Crowley know-“

“He does indeed.” Crowley speaks in the voice I know him by and Lionel jumps, and backs away to the edge of the trap. “Hello Lionel. Have anything you’d care to tell your king. Get off your chest perhaps?” Lionel shakes his head. 

“No sir. Wait. The other symbol in the upper court is done.”

“And the one on my room? I see you’re hesitating on that one. Why?” Crowley circles the demon, stepping into the circle at one point because of the lack of space. Rowena makes a gasping sound. 

“Ah-Ah mother. There is another person here now. No talking unless it’s with me alone. Now, Lionel. Please, tell your king why the glyph is taking so long.”

“Sir, uh, I been resupplyin, ran outta gold and-“

“Try again.”

“I-I don’t know what to say sir but the truth.”

“The truth...the truth is that if you don’t explain yourself much more quickly I’ll do to you, what I do to those souls in the cupboard, instead of just killing you.”

“Sir. I don’t-“

“Oh...that’s right. No one knows what I do with them. So I guess it isn’t much of a threat unless I Tell You what you've been snooping around trying to find out!” Crowley glares at the architect and steps out of the circle. The pain is minimal now that he is using my soul as a shield...and the 20 some other souls he has in various states of decay. Rowena however gasps. 

Crowley ignores her and turns to the demon in the circle. He paces, looking at his vessel’s feet. “So… I’m waiting for your answer Lionel. I am not a patient demon.” Lionel swallows and looks to Rowena for help, but she is too bent on using the situation to gain every bit of knowledge she can. Lionel swallows and nods. 

“I, they said you was turning demons human! I was scared!”

“You were right to be. But a smart demon would have kept his head down. A smart demon would have figured out that only two types of demons were vanishing. One type was quite willing to vanish, and until you betrayed me, you weren’t the other type.” Lionel gulps. Crowley circles him again, crossing in and out of the devil’s trap as if it were nothing but paint on the floor. “So, who are they? Who gave you such confidence to betray Your King!” 

“I. I can’t. Sir. They’ll kill me! Torture me!” At this Crowley turns and with a wave of his hand Lionel is pushed flat to the ground. 

“And I can do worse! Who. Are. They?”

Lionel swallows. It was time to decide, who was he more afraid of? Who did he think could win? Three demons and however many they could rally, or the King of Hell who could walk over devils traps without a care and his loyalists. Rowena watches, gauging just how powerful her son had gotten. There were demons who feared Crowley before, would rather die than go back to him if they failed, but when they thought they could rally together against him, in large numbers, they weren’t so afraid. I could see the thoughts running across her face, I could actually remember which seasons of the show she might be thinking about, if they were accurate. Artistic license and all, and well, Crowley. 

Lionel stutters a moment and then turns over, bones creaking, and kneels. 

“Sire. Their names be Bonard, Talis, and Nefari. They came to me wit tales that made my smoke itch. Hearing about that procedure… Them telling me I was next...telling me if I snooped around a bit, since I was the one who made the room, know every inch of Hell as it be now...telling me if I found proof they could rally an army to make sure it would never happen to me. Cause it would happen to me. Happen to all’a us. I..was right afeared.” Crowley paces, circles, a shark that smelled the blood of betrayal. He never stops moving, forcing his target to either shuffle about on his knees to see him, or accept that he wouldn’t be able to. 

“How many demons know about the procedure Lionel?”

“A...a few. The older ones didn’t believe it was possible...But the loyalists sir, half of them seemed to recognize it, and they didn’t care! Didn’t believe you’d do such a thing...and the ones that did said it was your right as king!” Crowley smirks. “I couldn’t understand! That’s when the group said they needed proof.”

Rowena looks at her son. Demons weren’t loyal. There was no such thing as a loyal demon. So the fact that there was a faction called loyalists confused her. 

She was right of course. There was no such thing as a truly loyal demon. But all demons are... are twisted extremes of their human selves. If they had a vice, or an obsession, that thing became integral to their being as a demon. So if Crowley turned people obsessed with drama or role playing or acting into demons whose sole job was to put an act on until it was time to break it in the most gloriously bloody way? Well, he was their hero. It was all about placement. Job allocation. Finding people who wanted to do the jobs he gave them.

That was the dream after all. Human or demon. People want to enjoy living, and one of the most sought after ways to do that...was to find a job you love; and boy did Crowley deliver. He was in sales after all. He sold them not only on the idea of a deal while they were alive, but a promise that they’d get a position they’d enjoy when they were a demon. 

I gave him the idea of contracts that continue after collection, and he ran with it. Not just for a mile, but across the state line. 

Of course deals were pretty much null and void as soon as the soul was demonized, but that didn’t matter. The demons found out about that fairly quickly. It didn’t matter because Crowley had made a deal. And he didn’t break deals. Contract or no. 

In 300 some years he had broken two deals, and one was to prevent an apocalypse. So when the fresh demons found out that even though their contract was over they were being given what was owed; they took advantage. They took advantage the only way they could. The best way. By giving into their vices and obsessions and going to work. 

People looking for contracts were vetted by the new crossroads team. If the signer had an obsession or a vice that fit a particular job… then that became part of the contract. If they didn’t have one, into the line. No new demon. 

That meant a big change. It lessened the amount of new demons being made considerably. This concerned the older demons, it concerned them more when they saw that the few that did get made were a bit...loyal to the king for some reason. They couldn’t figure out why, but to someone who stepped back it was obvious. Crowley was running a business, and happy employees meant things ran smoothly. As long as he gave them jobs they enjoyed, souls to play with, and didn’t kill them before they got to enjoy it all for a bit, they were loyal. 

So artists became part of r&d for new torture devices. Strategy gamers became leaders of teams of demons. Crowley had a place for every obsession, every vice. Even the fans, his fans; they became executives seeing over everything else. They reported to him. They got to see him on a regular basis. 

That’s why he needed this body. It had become a symbol that he needed for a bit longer. Just a bit. ...and he needed it back. 

So Crowley paces, and thinks. He was going to kill Lionel. A mercy if I was honest, but he needed a few more bits of info first. 

“Where are they?”

“Uh...Nova Scotia I think. Small warehouse they said. Never been myself.”

“And they’ve been telling demons about this...for how long? If I haven’t heard about it from my troops...that means it’s recent. ...Unless. What do you think Chew Toy?” You’re asking me about time and dates Crowley. I have no fuckjing clue except that if they followed us it could be from a long fucking time ago or really recent. But you don’t want an answer, you want to scare him. So, you’re welcome. He continues pacing, and then speaks, deeming it to have been long enough for a little bit of a scare. “Interesting. So. Why now? How long have you known?”

Lionel swallows, the King was talking to himself again. Some demons had heard him talking to a ‘Chew Toy’ when there was no one there. Some were concerned, thinking the King was insane, but he seemed fine on every other front, so they let it alone. Now Lionel has a feeling that this, and the souls, and the contract, were connected. He had no idea how right he was. 

“I...I just found out two months ago. They wanted me to get proof...but until today I...I had no way to get past the hounds. I...knew about the cupboard, and figured…. I was working on the sigils and lock when...” Lionel swallows, nervous.. Afraid that what he was admitting would get him killed. He continues though, after a few seconds and a calm stare from Crowely. “They...they thought that the loyalists might be scared enough by your recent show of power to join if they had proof of of-“

“Of the fact that I’ve been eating souls?” There is silence. It was out. The truth. The horrifying secret that Crowley wasn’t just collecting souls for Hell, but for himself. Both Rowena and Lionel stare. There is a shift, a creak of a floor board, and Crowley snaps his finger. Whatever movement was going on behind him, stops. Crowley walks into the circle and Lionel backs away. 

“No. No. I don’t-“ Crowley flicks his hand and a blade appears in it, and Lionel freezes and exhales. He was Just going to die. I laugh. I’d seen the day when once again, death was preferable to what Crowley would do to you. 

Moments later and Crowley is once again wiping off a blade on someone else’s clothes. Rowena is still frozen in place. He looks at her and then sits down behind his desk. With a wave his favorite drink is in his hands. The bowl is still displaying the three traitorous demons and Crowley watches them talking for a bit. Soon there is a muffled sound from Rowena and Crowley looks at her. 

“Just a moment mother. I have something I wish to ask my Chew Toy.” I tense. This could be bad. “Relax darling. I know what I would do in this situation, what would you do? About my demons knowing half a secret?” I relax. Just a question. Just time to fulfill my contract. Well, I’d show them. I’d show them the biggest lie of omission ever. Show them what you do to those who disobey. Show them the torture of their smoke being stretched and remade into a human soul that is so tired and weak that they degrade and tire in a jar. Just don’t tell them what you do with them, until it won’t matter if they know. 

Crowley takes a sip and sets the drink down. He doesn’t respond but I can tell he approves. Perhaps it is similar to his own idea. Perhaps he didn’t have one yet. I don’t know and it doesn’t matter. He waves his hand and his mother gasps and stumbles. 

“Fergus!”

“Yes mother? Do you have something to say? Do you disapprove of my methods? Of what I will Happily do to you if you cross me?” There is silence. She ponders. 

“How?” Fergus pauses with his drink halfway to his mouth again and looks at her. “How do ye do it? Demons dinnae eat souls!” 

“That, is what I don’t want anyone to figure out yet.”

“But ye’ll tell your mother right?”

“When Hell freezes over.”

“Fergus! We had a deal!”

“I said I’d tell you what I’d done, not how. Besides, you will figure it out eventually. You were always infuriatingly perceptive of anything I didn’t want you to notice and blind to everything I did.” 

“Well, then tell me what ye did, an...overview if ye will.” Crowley looks at her, her back to the wall, her hands fumbling with something. He sighs and waves a finger and she skids across the floor away from whatever she was failing to hide. As she skids she drops a pen, and a small half done sigil is on the wall. 

“Really mother? A binding curse?”

“Is nay for ye! Is for me! Ye’ll not be havin mah soul for Sunday tea!” Crowley scoffs. 

“Mother, it’s not Sunday. Now, if you’re done trying to prevent your inevitable end when you betray me, you wanted to know why most everyone is so...obedient.”

Rowena takes a breath and postures for a minute before looking at her son. 

“If ye dinnae mind.”

“Two reasons. One, I make sure my demons are happy, healthy, and-“

“Except when ye be eatin’ them then?”

“Honestly mother, I don’t do that often. In the time I’ve been collecting them, I've ‘eaten’ 8. Half the souls in that cupboard are human and have always been human. So, reason two...hopefully immortality won’t get too boring.” Rowena snorts.

“Fergus, all demon’s are immortal.”

“Yes, but it’s a kind of tenuous immortality, isn’t it?” Rowena furrows her brows and looks at her son, getting an inkling of what he is saying but not quite wanting to go the full way. Crowley sighs. “Mother. I’ve been stabbed with an angel blade ….I don’t remember how many times over the past years. It's Actually gotten boring, a lot of things have, but that’s why I have Chew Toy here.” I sigh. Yay me. Go team eternity. Crowley chuckles. “She’s amusing.” Rowena stares. Crowley finishes his drink, stands, and looks at the bowl. “I believe I’ve satisfied your curiosity enough for now...Where are the demons that I’m preparing for ‘Sunday tea’ exactly? Quickly, and I’ll let you watch the show.”

  
  


……………….

We arrive in the dead body of a very well dressed fry cook. We spend a good three hours outside. First checking for cameras. Then checking for warding and alarms. Then putting up sigils of our own. On the warehouse, and around the whole shipping yard. It takes a long time, one very complicated trap took up an hour. When we are done, no demon or angel could enter the shipping yard, and a very particular funnel of symbols was painted on the warehouse.

We spend a good half hour making sure the artist that he could flee to if absolutely necessary is sitting in a shipping container that has been retrofitted for short term living. Ie, a bathroom, water, ventilation... soundproofing...a confessional on consecrated ground. Of course he still had me, I work in a pinch. 

He is silent the entire time. Concentrating on what needs to be done, and what he’s going to do once he is inside. I can hear his plans. Sometimes he let’s me. It’s never for a good reason. He either wants my opinion, or knows the plans will make me nauseous. 

Finally however he is ready to go in. 

The front door is locked, but easily blown away with a thought. The warehouse is empty except for the three demons at the table, and seven others that were listening from the shadows. Shit. 

Crowley however doesn’t seem worried. 

“Hello ladies, I heard there was some discontent in the ranks. So, being King, I decided I should address it personally.” There is a scraping of chairs as the three demons stand and the others shift in place. Crowley keeps walking forward. “Really? Of all the things I’ve done. Siding with hunters. Losing artefacts. Changing the way Hell works. Executing traitors. Trapping Lucifer. Twice! Of all the things, turning a few demons Human is what upsets you?” There is more nervous shuffling as he gets closer. 

“It’s because we can’t figure out Why Crowley. Half of them were loyal to you.” One demon at the table steps forward. He is the one who didn’t have a body when he left Crowley’s office.

“So that’s it. You lacked information so instead of asking, or waiting,-“

“You would have killed us if we asked.” Says the demon in Crowley’s meat suit. Crowley frowns. He ponders possible avenues, and decides to go with the truth. He looks at the demons before him, puts on an act of looking conflicted… and then speaks. 

“They have information that could lead to the downfall of Hell.” There is murmuring and concerned whispers. I laugh. It was true. It could lead to the downfall of Hell. Crowley’s Hell. 

“Then lock them in a warded room! Don’t ...do what you did!” The yell comes from the back and Crowley takes a deep breath at the stupidity. 

“If there was a locked room, and your king said not to go in there because there was something in there that could destroy Hell... How many of you would ignore those orders?” There is silence. “Every single one of you! You will do it now, so...” There is still silence. Crowley takes a step forward and freezes. There is a ward; not a trap, not a binding spell, but a protective ward. Any demon on the outside...could not get in. Crowley smiles. He was lucky, no he was smart. 

He had decided after that encounter with the Men of Letters, that piloting his meat suit through my soul should be standard when going into battle. It meant everything thrown at him was just a bit weaker than if I was beside him. He registered a lot less as a demon, wards didn’t see me as a demon after all. The traitors watch, some confident the wards will keep them safe, some not so sure. 

All of them would die. Or worse. 

Crowley flicks his hands and an angel blade appears in one, a demon killing dagger in the other.

“This will hurt you a lot more than it will hurt me.” 

And he steps over the ward. 

The next few minutes go by quickly. Fight scenes in shows, in movies, take forever. In real life, unless the fighters are very evenly matched, fights end quickly. 

This was not a balanced fight. Crowley was outnumbered, overwhelmed, and outmaneuvered. 

He was not outmatched. 

In movies and shows bad guys always wait, never attack more than two at once. Real life is not so kind. Five demons rush Crowley, but he isn’t there when they arrive. The demons skid to a stop and look around, only to see one of the ones hanging in the back light up like a Christmas tree. The body falls and Crowley stands behind it. 

“Little slow on the uptake, aren’t we boys?” 

The demon behind him rushes up but the second blade is turned around and pushed backward. The demon falls and Crowley just wiggles the blade along with a raised brow. 

“Next?”’ A few demons back away but more run toward him. I am panicking, I would be a fine fighter, a dirty fighter; if so many things didn’t cause me to flinch. Now, with Crowley controlling a body that isn’t mine through my soul; I feel lightheaded, confused, odd. But I am definitely not flinching from any punch or blow. 

Crowley prefers quick maneuvers and final strikes. He moves as little as possible, allowing himself to be hit by fists, kicks, or blasts of force if it puts him in a better position for a coup de grace in the next moment. I don’t believe pain has meant anything to him for at least 200 years. At least not anything negative. As he said, ‘agony and ecstasy.’ I have a feeling as he takes a particularly hard punch that he is enjoying the fight on more than one level. This could have been over a full minute ago...

“C’mon boys. You know I’m immortal and this is all you came prepared with? If you were in my army I’d fire you. In fact...Consider this your exit interview!” As the blade plunges through the front of a chest, six demons are now dead, the remaining three are those from the table...but…

As Crowley is quickly going over math in his head and determining that there should indeed be one more, an angel blade is plunged into his gut. Lightning flies through us, and the meat suit falls. We both feel the tugs, the one to the Empty and the one toward the other piece of the artist’s soul. One is most definitely stronger. 

Red smoke pours out as the body hits the floor. Crowley twists across the room, back and forth frantically as if scared, and then flies out the window to the right of the front door.

“Follow him! If we can kill his next meatsuit it-“ the voices fade as Crowley rushes through the air. We maneuver between other warehouses and to the shipping container yard. The red container stands out amidst the blue and through the air vent we go. 

The artist inside is sitting in the confessional, scared. Crowley is elated, he wouldn’t have to take the time to force her to use it. She is facing the other way when Crowley enters and doesn’t even see the red smoke. There is the brief feeling of pressure and Crowley straightens and dusts himself off as he always does after entering a meatsuit. He takes inventory then pushes himself, and all his ‘constituents’, into the girl’s soul. I can feel her brief pain as her soul is cracked open and wince in rememberamce. She hates me, but has pity for me. I was the cause of this, but my torment would last longer than any of the other souls here. She thought that was fair. 

I couldn’t disagree. 

“Now now children, don’t fight.” Crowley bends over and picks up a suitcase that has a lock on it and after regarding the door to the shipping container for a moment, blasts it open with a wave. I knew what was in the suitcase. Crowley was serious when he told Rowena she would get a show. He looks in the mirror one last time, adjusts the nun’s habit that was purely for insult, and heads out. 

We hear the demons before we reach them. 

“We need to call someone.”

“Who?”

“Lionel.”

“Lionel isn’t answering.” We round the corner. The demons stop at the sight of a nun with a suitcase. 

“Lionel is dead boys.” The four demons twitch and recoil in the devil’s trap that was just outside the door on the underside of the ramp. 

“What are you going to do with us Crowley?” Crowley ignores them and sets down the suitcase before carefully climbing around the trap and heading inside. He takes his time and walks over to the corpse of his precious meatsuit. Both of the blades were still in its hands. He grabs them and slowly returns, looking at the four demons. He circles them. They turn to watch. 

“Did you really think you could win? REALLY? I’ve been King for ninety years! Do you know how many coups I’ve thwarted? Do you know how many attempts on my life I’ve foiled? How many rebellions I’ve nipped in the bud?” He paces on the outside of the building, looking at the four demons, noticing which ones had blades, which ones might be carrying a gun, which ones were unarmed. I however was focusing on some numbers. If he had been king for ninety years, and the show was accurate in saying he was king for seven before a short break of...a it sounded like a half a year based on how quickly Dean called him back from his story...he literally waited one year after the Winchester’s died before ‘leaking’ Sam’s journals. 

That meant just under half the show took place when I was a kid. When the internet was just starting. Enough to do research, but not enough to share the fact that a person had been seen in one place and then half way around the world moments later. Of course that could be entirely wrong depending on the brother’s actual ages. The events in the show could have been years apart, or happened as quickly as it was depicted… Either way, I couldn’t deny that Crowley worked fast.

He continues to pace, sea air sending the scent of brine to us as he turns to face the wharf. He stops right outside the circle in front of the one demon who wasn’t part of the main group. 

“I’ve killed more demons in my 425 years than all of you combined. What made you think you-“ the blade comes out and slides into the gut of the ‘superfluous’ demon “could hope to match me?” He flicks his wrist and the angel blade that demon was holding slides out of the circle as another demon dives for it. He sighs and shakes his head, then looks at the sky. “Enjoy the show mother.” 

He heads back to the suitcase and unlocks it. Inside are the tools he uses for torture. The kit had been added to over twenty years, quite a bit. He grabs the holy water and begins to sprinkle it on the ground. 

“Ritum sacrum. Hanc terram consecro. Ritum sacrum. Hanc terram consecro. Ritum sacrum. Hanc terram consecro.” The words make the body itch a bit as he talks but he ignores it, this wasn’t any different from the many other times he had done this. 

He pours the most of the holy water out and then looking at the demons toasts them before upending the flask over his mouth. “Amen.” They stare. 

“What are you?” Crowley ignores them and goes to the suitcase. He places the flask back and grabs two syringes and returns. He looks at them, holding the syringes so they can see, know what’s about to happen. 

“I’m the King Of Fucking Hell boys.”

He is suddenly beside them and he plunges the two syringes into the necks of the demons who weren’t in his preferred body. They cry in pain as he pushes the plungers in and then pulls the syringes out. The demon in Crowley’s meatsuit tries to smoke out but can’t. Crowley waves one of the needles up. On the overhang above them is another trap, one that prevents demons...from smoking out. 

“See you in an hour gents, I'm going to get my cardio for the day. Killing any human who walks within 100 feet of here should do the trick. Be good and I’ll bring you some entrails.”

Eight hours. Sixteen syringes. Seventeen dead humans. One twitter post from @Bigboss666 #killing it with the meal prep. Three scotches. One scared demon in a stolen meatsuit.

Two twitching humanized demons. 

Crowley looks at the two shaking humanlings. They stare back. Silence fills the night with oppressing finality. Crowley breaks it. 

“Oh. Right.” He takes out his phone and opens the browser. “Sorry for the unprofessionalism, I always forget how to pronounce the last incantation. Let me just check the wiki.” He didn’t forget. He knew exactly what to say. He was prolonging this, tormenting them with the knowledge that it was almost over. 

“Exorcizamus te, omnis...right. Lustra! Right, always forget that part." He puts the phone away and walks towards them, angel blade in hand.

“You...you can’t do it. You aren’t...purified.” Pants one of the almost humans. 

“No, but the meatsuit and their soul are. Good little work around.”

The demon in Crowley’s preferred body swallows and points out a flaw.

“Yeah, but once they are human, they can leave the circle, their souls won’t belong to you or Hell anymore.” Crowley pauses, and reaches into the ether. 

“I beg to differ.” Two contracts appear in his hand. “Now… some years ago there was a meeting in Hell. Every single demon.” The demons stare. “Remember, there was a buffet? I remember, the pickled eyes were expensive, but worth it because everyone was in a good mood... Everyone agreed to the new definitions and alterations to all past, present, and future contracts.” I remembered him telling me about that day. He described the pickled eyeballs in great detail, much to my dismay, because they were like hardboiled eggs crossed with grapes that tasted like salmon. 

That kinda sounded interesting. I loved all those things… until Crowley ate a pickled eyeball while in my body. 

Neither of us enjoyed the feeling, and intensity, of the nausea I felt. Never again.

He unrolls the two contracts and lets them hit the ground. “I’m particularly proud of the clause that adds to the definition of ownership ‘through all forms of existence the soul endures in the past, present, and future once the contract has been fulfilled.’” The contracts vanish. “You’re souls are mine ladies.”

He walks up, and as he speaks slices both of his hands. 

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegra, lustra. Lustra.” 

There are screams, whimpers, tears. Both x demons look like they went through a three week bender as they kneel and blink like newborn cubs through the blood on their foreheads and eyes. 

Crowley once again begins to pace. It was something I had noticed long ago, one of the few things he did without really thinking. He did it on the show, he did it as Mark Sheppard at conventions, he did it in Hell, he did it when he was thinking. Crowley paced, and right now, it looks menacing. 

“So, since you three have essentially died to find this out, and I’m a bit curious to see what will happen, let’s start the end here.”

The three traitors look at each other and then Crowley. Meatsuit thief is the one who asks.

“What, are you going to...do...my liege?” Crowley rolls his eyes at the half assed attempt to placate him but stops his pacing a moment and looks at his captive audience. He was an actor, and boy was he playing the part. 

“Let’s just say, I’m hoping I don’t get indigestion.” 

The sound of the snap is overwhelmed by the complete explosion of the two humans. The ground, Crowley’s meatsuit, Crowley’s new meatsuit; Jackson pollock going through a red phase. 

With a wave the two souls flicker into view, floating toward Crowley, out of the circle. They are white, but their light is faint and they move slowly, wearily. Crowley pauses and once again looks up. 

“I hope this act makes up for the slow parts, mother. I expect a standing ovation when I return.” 

The red smoke bursts out and flies through the air, circling them until they are no longer visible. I feel the wind rush around me, feel the faint light of the two new souls as smoke fills the air for a moment longer before returning to its temporary home. 

The body jerks a moment as all the energy within rearranges itself. It takes a moment, three full seconds, for them to be pushed around and compartmentalized in various prisons of red. For the brief moment I can feel them all I sense is fear, and regret. 

The remaining demon looks on in horror. Crowley looks at the sky a second before tasting something on his tongue. 

“That residual sulfur...just goes to show you Hell never really let’s go.” 

The demon in front of us is mute. This was something even he wouldn’t have guessed. This was cruel, dirty, and wrong, even for a demon. This, this was evil. 

This was a plot worthy... of the King of Hell. A lot of things clicked for the demon then. The contract. The murder of those two crossroads demons so many decades ago. The King’s abilities. 

The human mind was imperfect. It couldn’t remember every detail of years and years. The person that used to inhabit Crowley’s meat suit, I doubt he remembered everything Crowley said, or did. The demon had to piece together what he could from a dead human brain. It wasn’t quite enough to understand what was going on…

But with what he just saw...it might be. 

“Please...please don’t-“

“I’ll give you a once in a lifetime offer. Limited quantity, limited time. Give me back my body...and I might just kill you.”

“Yes. Whatever you want. Just don’t, don’t...” Crowley doesn’t hesitate and with a wave the overhang cracks and the symbol is broken. 

“How about a little...prisoner exchange?” Crowley sets the blade, his cellphone, and a syringe filled with blood on the ground outside the trap. He steps inside and asks quizzically “smoke at three paces?” I chuckle a it, but the demon shakes their head, confused. Crowley sighs at the lack of wit and then erupts from the body, grabbing every soul and taking them along like the wind carrying wet leaves that are reluctant to move. The other demon vacates moments later and for a second in time black and red smoke fill the air, the artist’s body looking around beneath them like an angry lost child. Then they pass and the bodies below twitch as they again have occupants. 

Crowley stretches and nods at the other demon, cleans his suit with a thought, and walks out of the trap. A small twinge of pain is all that registers. If I could shake a head I would. The demon was stupid. He had lost his only leverage and Crowley had worded his promise very specifically. Of course he would have gotten his body back either way, but this way he didn’t have to deal with a possible relapse due to huge amounts of purified blood in his preferred home. 

He walks over to the syringe and after picking it up flicks it, before turning back to the demon. The demon cringes and tries to retreat, but Crowley points above and with a thought the ‘no smoking symbol’ repairs itself. 

“You...you said.”

“The operative word in that sentence was might.” Crowley walks forward with the syringe, showing his anger for the first time that night. “You. Stole. My. BODY! Did you really think you’d get away with anything less than an excruciatingly slow end to your excuse for a life!?” The demon shakes his head and backs away to the edge of the trap. Crowley just keeps walking forward, until he’s not there. 

Behind the demon he jabs the needle into their neck and pulls it out roughly as soon as it is empty. The demon winces and holds their hand over the wound as they turn to face Crowley. 

Crowley looks at the needle and twirls it lazily. 

“Pain pain pain...pain.” Crowley takes the needle and slowly drives it through the skin between his pointer and middle finger. The 2 pure human souls scream from the pain. The two x demons and I, just endure. Crowley revels in all of it for a brief moment, enjoying the stronger reactions he couldn’t quite get from pain anymore. However he had more important things to tend to at the moment. Points to make, souls to tenderize with fear. 

He watches as the needle goes straight through and sighs, pulling it out and throwing it away. The wound heals quickly, one of the bigger benefits of wearing the crown, at least that’s what he told me. I had a feeling there was a contract with whoever the person inhabiting Mark Sheppard was before Crowley took over at what I still think was a rather offensively young age. Of course, the contract could have been signed later. I often wondered what happened to that soul. Crowley won’t tell me.

He watches the wound heal. “Unless it’s being inflicted to me on date night...it’s boring. I haven’t seen an interesting reaction to pain since the Winchester’s died.” Crowley walks around the trap to look at the demon. “Let’s see if I can get one from your soul.”


	25. The Mother's Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which truth is found, deals are made, and uncertainty looms.

Crowley leaves the wards and sigils up; he cleans the area thoroughly otherwise. Even burning sage to cleanse any energy that might be used to divine the events that happened here. He cleans up everything nicely and looks once more at the scene of his latest triumph. He hadn’t really observed it the first time after all. He looked for strategic points, where he should put sigils, ambush spots, anything that could be an advantage or disadvantage. So, no he didn’t really look at it.

The warehouse is old and the glass windows are made of that glass that you can see the imperfections in. He walks in, doing one more check. The many bloodstains are gone, licked up by his Hellhounds; same with the bodies. Crowley hated digging graves, calling his pets to just eat the evidence was far easier.

The table that we had viewed the traitors holding their little meeting at is gone, it had been broken into little bits when a demon was thrown into it. Crowley leaves through the back, the wards there not even tingling now. 

Six. Six full souls. Three x demons. Two humans under contract...and me

“And a devil makes seven.” I snort, well, I think about it. Crowley looks about once more and then leaves, the only evidence that something was odd...the now utter lack of evidence.

We return to his office. The wood floors, wooden desk, posh chairs...the remaining ingredients from a recent scry and a devil's trap on the ground… and Rowena.

Crowley drops the suitcase and sighs.

“I said I expected a standing ovation mother, I really thought that performance warranted at least a little recognition from you.” He ignores her silence as he walks over to the bottle of whiskey and pours a glass. He is very satisfied, I can’t help but be too. Those demons were dicks. 

Rowena always had a comment, good or bad, about him. That she was silent at the moment, very telling. He puts the cap on the decanter and turns to regard her. She stands in the corner, the sigil from before finished and ready to activate. Crowley sighs.

“Mother. I would rather lick Lucifer’s boots than endure a year with your soul constantly nagging me... if there wasn’t a good reason. There are only two, maybe three, things that would make me even consider enduring your voice in my head.” He sips the drink and then sets it down, spinning the glass with one finger on the table, waiting for the questions, for her to walk where he led her. She was one of the few beings he considered nearly as smart as him. Crowley had a lot of hubris; almost no one was as clever, dangerous, or well put together, as him. 

The problem was that in regards to the first two...he was usually right. Lucifer was gone. The archangels were gone or didn’t care. God and whatever other cosmic beings were real or not...gone. Whatever the ruler of the empty actually called himself...he just wanted to sleep. If there were people who were as smart as Crowley, and there surely were, they weren’t in his game and therefore didn’t matter. So Crowley looks at his mother, waiting, watching; spinning his glass of whiskey on the table. 

Rowena smiles, a tight smile. A smile covering obvious fear. She cared for her son, she was proud of him, she thought he was a slimy conniving evil little thing...just like she used to be, and sometimes still was. She never for one moment thought he could be a real threat to her on his own. With subjects, an army, the crown...but on his own? No. Crowley just smiles at my inner thoughts, ones he can hear, ones the artist could hear. Don was stuffed wherever the x demon souls were, enduring the torrent of terrifying memories they exuded. Crowley told me that’s what he was going to do, asked me if I thought that was fitting. I couldn’t say it was bad, as ideas for torture go. And putting the demons next to Don, with his constant attempts at bargaining, probably torture for them too. 

The silence is heavy. I was noticing the more powerful Crowley got the more often these silences seemed to happen. I hated them. They came with the weight of hundreds of scared eyes, and the fact that that was starting to amuse me...was terrifying. Crowley wouldn’t let me twist into red smoke or turn into a demon, but I couldn’t deny I was becoming...inoculated...no. More appreciative of how nearly everything he did was a move calculated to elicit the reaction he wanted. He was right. The best crossroads demons were actors.

The silence is broken suddenly and startlingly.

“What...what are the three things dearest, that ye’d destroy me for?” Crowley looks at her and shakes his head. He picks up his drink and returns to his seat. With a wave the desk is cleared and he spins in the chair to face Rowena.

“I already told you one, do you not listen? You just watched me for over 17 hours punishing demons for that very reason.” Rowena swallows and steps forward slowly.

“Fergus. I would never betray ye-”

“Mother. Don’t try to sell lies to the king of loopholes. It’s sad.” Rowena freezes and stands up straight. Crowley was right. She may not want to kill him, but betray him? The instant she thought she had a chance of escaping. At least, that’s what Crowley is thinking.

“Then… then what are the other reasons?” She asks. Crowley slowly takes another sip, smiles, and says words that cause my soul to freeze.

“I suppose if my Chew Toy said I should...” 

What? No. No no fuck no. This was a ploy. A joke. What? No. Crowley, I’m not a fan at a convention to be bullied or goaded, anymore, I Know the amount of control I have here and that is ZERO. The bluff is so bad it-

“Darling, Chew Toy. You give yourself too little credit. I’m only here today because of you.” I cringe. I hated when he pointed that out, because I still didn’t know how to feel. Guilty, sure of course. Stupid. Definitely. 

….but this pride? No. That shouldn’t be there. ...but it was… sometimes. For fleeting moments. 

Rowena stands still, confused.

“Chew Toy? Is that one of… yer meals?” Crowley scoffs. 

“No. They get very little say, except I’ll occasionally get a craving for a particular sin or sensation from one of them.” Crowley drains the glass and sets it down. “Had a wonderful experience with bacon and two stippers last week. But I digress...No mother. Chew Toy is not a ‘meal’ as you so indelicately put it. You met her earlier, she was the-”

“First contract. And what makes her so special that ye’d kill yer own kin for her?” Crowley scoffs again. 

“Under her advisement, possibly, but For her? Nothing makes anyone that special, except she loves me.” Oh shut up, still not a doddering fan at convention. “Not anymore.” Once! One convention! I doubt you even remembered- “Of course I do. You were an idiot, in a suit, who reeked of desperation. I’d have tried to make a contract at the time if I hadn’t been busy, but… you stumbled into my lap anyway and now you are mine.” Like your ‘wife’ stumbled into your lap? “No, she was actually a lovely person, you’re just a Chew Toy.” I sigh, either way I doubted I had that power. Really really really really fucking doubted. “Darling, you’re an artist, you always give yourself too little credit.” That was usually true, but here… no. No I was right on fucking track. Rowena stares at this half conversation she can see. 

“And… ye’d listen to her over someone with 500 years of experience.” 

“Mother, she actually has my best interest at heart. She has to. Not only is it in her contract that she has to advise me to the best of her ability; meaning that if she advises me with ill intent it violates her contract…” I-I had not thought of it that way. Of course I had never thought of giving him advice that could backfire, not intentionally anyway. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t know, but that was logic. I had a feeling that was part of the contract, compelling me to...well do a good job. It didn’t feel far off from my own need to provide successful ideas… I had felt that pull before, but I had never thought it might be preventing me from using my role to hurt Crowley. 

That phrase. To the best of my ability, I thought that was something in my favor. Something that meant that if my idea wasn’t perfect I had still tried, but of course not. Of course it had a double meaning. Crowley continues as if I had not just had an internal revelation. 

“-but if I die...she gets lain into by not only every demon who wants to know how I did this, but every angel, witch, and half baked human hunter with an ego.” I cringe. Again. I Had thought about that. I really had fucked up in so many fucked up ways. The conversation continues despite my dismay however.

“And that makes her more worthy to advise ye than me?!”

“That...and she actually has original ideas.”

“I have ideas! I-”

“Mother. You have been a broken record for hundreds of years. Step one. Suck up. Step two. Steal or take over. Step three…. Well you never really got to enjoy step three long enough to flesh it out, did you?” Rowena stands still and looks at her son, sad and scared. I have no clue how much of the show was accurate after Crowley left...but if the journal was Sam’s...

“Fergus. I changed. I missed ye, I”

“And yet… you were the one who got a contract on Sam’s soul.” Crowley picks up the glass again and turns it, the light from the afternoon sun sending small rainbows from the crystal to play on the desk.

“Because he started huntin’ demons again! For their blood!” Crowley sighs. 

“No mother. He didn’t. You wanted the contract because You couldn’t stand the thought of losing, another...son. Even if it was to heaven.” Crowley puts the glass down and raises a brow. “I know how easily I was replaced.” Rowena looks back and forth, panicked. Apparently she had really changed, on some level. She still, however, wanted out of the prison. Anyone would with that amount of solitude; and of course, there was the threat of a type of demise no one would wish to contemplate for long.

Rowena backs into the corner once again. The armoire to her right creaking as she bumps into it. 

“It wasn’t easy! It...it was a bandaid darlin’!”

“Until, it wasn’t, mother.” Crowley sighs and stands, walking toward Rowena. 

“I care for ye Fergus!”

“I’d say too little too late, but I Did, kind of, you know, with a little effort, build an Entire Palace For You!”

“A palace prison is still a prison Fergus!” Crowley raises a brow. 

“Yes, to protect us both. There are demons who would use me to get you to do magic for them. Angels who would kill to have a former queen and access to her secrets. Damned souls who would use you to get to me. Mother, you are a liability, and you will remain one...until I am secure in my future.” Crowley is inches from Rowena, who while sweating and fearful, has a glimmer of hope. Perhaps her son cared, perhaps he wouldn’t do that horrible thing to her. 

“I-I thought ye hated yer job?” Crowley smirks.

“I did, but I was asleep in the Empty, with regrets and dreams mixed together in a symphony meant to keep me asleep and interested.” Wait I thought the empty just played fear and regret over and over? “Chew toy, the Nothing is malicious and cruel but not stupid, if they want their prisoners to stay asleep and Want to stay alssep, there need to be dreams as well as nightmares. And the dreams need to be good enough to make whoever is there Want to be asleep.”

“Like...like what? What did he dream of Fergus?”

“Mother. A demon is a demon, what do you think I dreamed of?” There is silence and Crowley sighs. “Horror and perfection mother. Dreams and goals I didn’t even know I had failing or succeeded over and over. However, I am never one to enjoy a nightmare or dream when the goals they show me are within reach. So...you don’t betray me…” He takes a step closer and there is a sudden pain in Crowley’s gut. He looks down to see the blade from the ritual in Rowena’s hand, slightly embedded into his side. “Mother, while this feels very nice, I am not one for an oedipus complex, so please... remove that.” 

“Fergus, I’m so- I forgot I was holdin’ that, I-” Crowley holds up his hand and makes the closed mouth gesture and there is silence. 

“What do you think Chew Toy? I’m appointing you judge and jury tonight.” I hesitate. I look at the knife in her hand through his eyes. Both of us could see that it clearly was in fact an accident. She may have intended to use it at one point, but right now its pommel is against an edifice in the armoire and the blade ended just out in front of Rowena. 

I’d say keep her under lock and key, make sure to tell her enough so she doesn’t go insane with fear and worry...and then let her out when you’re sure you won’t die. You know, unless she betrays you. 

Crowley smiles. “It seems you have a fan mother.” There is a gesture and Rowena visibly relaxes. “So, what else do you want to know before I send you back home to your own little piece of Scotland?”

…………………...

“So jest a year? ...That’s all it takes fer a soul to break down?”

“Break apart, but yes. It takes about ten for one to completely fade. It-“ Crowley pauses and sighs, leaning back in the chair, enjoying a rainbow of emotions from his current collection. My ‘roommates’ have just found out their life span. No one would react well to that, no one reaction would be exactly the same, and Crowley, was getting all of them. 

“Fergus. Fergus?”

“Shhhh.” There is silence. The feelings of fear, sorrow, and anger mix for a moment or two before Crowley shuts them down and sits up straight again. He didn’t want to be human, he didn’t want to feel things like guilt or dismay in relation to His actions. Felt through someone else, that he could just Shut Down when he wanted? That was a high he Loved.

“Fergus, what was that? Are ye ok?”

“Wonderful mother. Just enjoying a feeling or two.” Rowena is quick on the uptake. 

“That’s how ye get yer fix now is it? Directly from the soul, Fergus I don’t think-“

“You never lost the Ability To Feel, Mother!” 

“Is...that how ye tear them apart? Taking their feelins’?” Crowley stares at her. 

“No mother. And I won’t be telling you how until it doesn’t matter anymore, and then I still won’t tell you the details. ...unless you wish to join Chew Toy for a few decades?” Rowena shifts in her seat. This wasn’t like her son. Contradicting himself. He had just said he’d rather lick his most hated enemy’s boots than let her in. Now he was taunting her, playing an obvious game. In her mind, Something was wrong. 

She was right ...and wrong. Crowley was perfectly fine, he was just flying high as a kite. He didn’t usually have this many full souls and x demon souls giving him this many different feelings. It was a bit overwhelming, even for him. Even after he tried to shut them down. In the moment, perhaps on purpose, perhaps on accident, Crowley was letting his own dull tainted feelings through to me. Just to me, the one he was used to gently buffeting around, always being in contact with so I was available at a moment's notice. Either way, I was feeling what he was, something he didn’t usually allow. His thoughts, experiences, ideas, occasionally. But feelings, unless he knew it would upset me, he kept those locked away. 

It is uncomfortable, demons still feel a bit but everything is twisted. Fear he feels from his prisoners comes back to me with a huge dose of satisfaction, pain with euphoria, and anger...anger becomes a low hum of the worst possible form of lust. Because lust for demons is never just about sex. No, if it even involved sex it was always sex with something. With power. With violence. With hunger.

And right now he was very hungry for this high to never even have a chance of ending. He’d happily endure his mother for that in his current state of mind. This was bad. Crowley was becoming an addict to a stronger high. One that could be a danger. He didn’t even care about my thoughts he so obviously was barely paying attention to. 

Rowena could tell. She could tell something was off even through the cool facade. Crowley had not foreseen this. He had not seen this as a possibility when he had taken in six nearly fresh souls. He had thought of being burned by their energy, not being able to contain them, having to release them, maybe being in pain for a year. He had even been prepared to throw a few out into jars if they had begun to overwhelm him. 

He had not prepared for complete success. He was too used to there always being a complication, a downside. Because this wasn’t a downside, not for him. Not in this state anyway. He could work through a high, he had before. He was still smart enough to know a fatal mistake from a minor one. He was still aware enough to kill who he wanted, when he wanted, with ease. He could still plan. Manipulate. Coerce. 

He would probably come out fine. Probably. Maybe. Probably. But a lot of others might needlessly die or worse. 

That might include Rowena. 

Which Rowena was definitely not okay with. 

“Darlin. Are we going to need another intervention?” At this Crowley’s slight smile vanishes. He licks his lips, which are dry for more than one reason, and looks at her.

“Pardon?”

“Intervention darlin? Like before, with the blood? Sam and Dean told me about it. I missed so many years of yer life...so when they could tell me-“

“They told you about that? Of course they did. They wouldn’t have any Decency or respect for my Privacy!” Rowena frowns and stands. 

“Darlin, I jest think… I mean how many do ye even have right now?”

“Over all, or current whole pits I've swallowed?”

“Well as yer mother I’d like to know as much as I can about my son, so I know how best to help.” She says as she moves away tentatively. Slowly. Crowley rolls his eyes, still completely unbelieving of her sincerity. I didn’t blame him. 

“In total, well it’s so hard to keep track of what I eat on a year to year basis-“ that’s a fucking lie, “but...32. Six of which I have right now, one of which I will not get rid of, in fact I need one more. Last one fulfilled her contract, just a bit ahead of schedule.” Crowley watches as his mother processes this on her way to the armoire from earlier. She opens the top cabinet to pull out three jars.

“Fergus, ye don’t really need a-“

“Yes mother. I do. You know very well about the new contracts, and for now… well I like how they make me feel. Like a giddy school girl behind the bleachers.” Rowena takes the hint, that the new contract soul is non-negotiable. As she turns to come back with the jars we both see her pause, a brief moment of realization, then she continues as if it hadn’t happened. So does Crowley. “So unless you want to make a contract with me, which I do believe we will both agree to when Hell freezes over and Ron Jeremy wins an Oscar, I need another contract.”

“I’ll make a contract with ye Fergus. Provided we go over it together.” Rowena carefully sets the jars down as Crowley sits up and stares. No way. The Rowena he knew, never in a million years. She had been queen. She Knew that the contracts Never turned out well for the second party. So why would she agree? I thought I knew, but Crowley could not accept that his mother...wanted to be a mother. Had given up her hatred. No. She wanted to know what was in the contract. How it worked. I had to admit that was probably at least part of it, but I had a feeling it wasn’t to use the power, but to figure out if it could hurt her son. 

“No. No. What’s your game here?” Crowley, I think she might have- “no. No Chew Toy. When it comes to killing, using, or manipulating my mother, I will take your advice. When it comes to trusting her...”

“Darlin. Listen to her. I’m yer mother. I jest want to help.” He accent begins to slip through more as she gets desperate, emotional, or perhaps is trying to remind him of their shared life in Scotland. That was a bad idea.

“Most mothers yes, but you, no.”

“Darlin, Fergus. Ye hold all the cards. Even if I learn somethin’, what can I do?”

Crowley pauses. This was true. The biggest risk wasn’t Rowena herself anymore, it was someone finding out something from her. Besides, if he changed his mind…

“You’d risk going into a contract with me? Risk your very existence?” At this Rowena finally smiles. 

“A mother will give up anything for her child...but I Was queen mother for a brief stint. I went over my fair share of contracts.” 

I can feel pleasure, of many types, many inappropriate for the situation, rush through Crowley. One of the few emotions he held onto even after the blood left. For good reason. 

“Well, mother, if you think you can work over a contract with the King of the Crossroads…by all means.”

…………..

“So all ye did was change the definition of freeheld ownership?”

“Well, in tandem with tenancy in common.”

It was early early morning now. There were two teacups, three teapots, and one empty bottle of scotch on the table. Faint light from two lamps filled the room, flickering occasionally from the ambient power of three souls in jars and a very happy demon. 

Crowley had finally let go of three of the souls, the emotions of distress from some of them was just too distracting. Rowena watched in fascination as he had deposited them in the jars, his smoke glittering with white and fading pink. That was two hours ago. We were on hour four with the contract. 

My mind was numb.

“So what is this bit about taking a piece of the soul with you? You mean like some of their aura?”

“No mother. It means a piece. Ten percent of a soul.” Rowena blinks. 

“That...isn’t possible.”

“Not according to the contract.” She leans back. 

“That...that’s how ye break them apart. Fergus. This is…”

“Completely uncharted territory.” Rowena stares. 

“And ye thought of this on yer own?”

“Mother, why do you think I still have Chew Toy after 90 some years?” Rowena blinks. An average uneducated human who didn’t even know magic was real. No. I couldn’t have thought of this on my own. “Chew Toy gave me many new ideas the night we met. Most of which she didn’t even know were interesting. Unending contracts. Contracts that were about what happened after entering Hell... Hiding in another soul. That would mean I could only have partial ownership because they needed to hold on to it... That inevitably led me to think about what would lead me to said soul if I died, as added insurance. Which led to breaking it apart.” I sigh. I was the smartest idiot in existence. Wonderful. Rowena stares. Crowley just sits and smiles. 

“How...jest how Fergus?” Crowley smiles and opens a drawer. I’m in convulsions of laughter. Of course he fucking had one. 

Box set. All fifteen seasons. 

He holds out the box and Rowena tentatively takes it. 

“It’s a tad off on...many details, but it increased crossroad deals by 30 to 40 percent for over three decades...at least.” 

“What, what is this?”

“A TV show mother, about...well the Winchester’s. Don’t worry, I’ll add a tv and DVD player to your prison.” Rowena stares. 

“How? I understand why Fergus, but-“

“After some heavy editing, Sam’s journals Somehow found their way to a... certain person in Hollywood. I found my way there eventually too. Wonderful time. Until an actual angel stepped in. Bloody programs in meat suits.”

“I thought you liked Castiel darlin? It was Castiel right?”

“It was, and I did. Until he bloody Killed Me! Again! I was very much minding my own business at the time too.”

“Really? Were ye Fergus?”

“Yes! The demon tablet and the angel tablet should be broken into tiny pieces and scattered to the ends of the earth!”

“Where only ye know the location of each of the parts, I assume?”

“That is completely beside the point!” It was so exactly the point. “If the angel had stopped to Ask I might have considered breaking it up and us each taking pieces. No! He assumed that I had the angel tablet to close the gates of Heaven, or some such rubbish. Ugh. The workload of taking in every, single, soul? Besides the expense of the Copious amounts of scotch I’d need to deal with that headache, it completely ruins my current plan.” It kinda did. “The program with wings assumed that with the hardy boys gone I’d try to take over everything. That, is a few Thousand years in the future, if I even wanted to consider it. Which I don’t.” Crowley takes a large breath of air, his tirade done-ish. “Being in charge of angels? Please.” His mother stares. A lot had changed. A lot hadn’t. 

“So, did ye get the tablets?” Crowley’s face twists in anger. 

“The demon one at least, and a corner of the angel. Scattered. Broken. Some in constant motion, until of course they found them again.” Like the one he fed to Growley. Poor thing had hideous farts. As in worse than before. “I was breaking up the angel tablet and hiding the last piece of the demon one when Castiel approached, both of them. I didn’t realize until they were close, bugger the both of them.”

C’mon. Misha didn’t really have control, and he did force Cas out...and sign the NDA eventually. The one that actually was Just an NDA...I think. Crowley rolls his eyes. “We had a Lovely chase though, since I couldn’t very well teleport in the middle of the day, in public, with a billion cameras. So, we walked through the streets, he’d lose me. I’d have a cup of tea. He’d find me. We’d walk a couple blocks. I’d try to find a bathroom, an alley, he’d find me just in time, the tease. We exchanged wonderful insults, a few very specific threats, I even spent a block or two trying to explain. Eventually I got to a back alley to snap away...and the bastard cheated.”

“Cheated?”

“We were on a date, I never agreed to an orgy! I wouldn’t have said no, but I wasn’t really prepared for that type of evening. Left my favorite thumbscrews at home and all. So it was just us. Seeing the sights. Talking. Even planned on painting the town red with him. I brought my paint brush!” Crowley waves his angel blade into existence for a moment before sighing. I was quiet. Listening carefully. This was not a story he had cared to share before. Rowena pipes up and breaks the pause to ask the right question.

“He had an ally?” Crowley scowls at the question. 

“A bloody ally? He had four! But not there, no. In my bloody penthouse! Teleported to my room, right into a devil’s trap that put a huge charge on my account! That name and credit card, were blacklisted! Oh yes, and They Killed me and Ruined my suits, of the fabric And meat variety!” He takes a breath and clenches his teeth a moment. “Luckily I dumped the last piece of the demon tablet during the chase.”

“Where?”

“Mother, I’m on a rant, not a runaway car with no breaks. Besides this was years ago. They found them and used the demon tablet to partial success before I fixed the problem.” Crowley sighs and shakes his head. “Bloody doll faces pigeons.” Rowena is silent.

“What plan Fergus?” Crowley sighs, again. Of course she’d latch onto that one phrase from about a minute ago now. He takes a sip of whiskey and sits up. 

“Back to the contract mother.”

“Fergus, what plan?” 

“We aren’t going to get back to the contract without covering this first are we? Even though it has Literally Nothing to do with the contract!” Rowena sits silently and patiently. Crowley looks at the ceiling for a second then exhales slowly. “Mother. When you were running things down there, what did you think of the demons?” Rowena pauses, concerned at the seemingly random question. She, however, knew her son wasn’t one to ask things randomly, he didn’t do anything randomly unless strategy required it...and I guess then it would be...planned randomness? Anyway, she decided to play.

“They were, backstabby, but many wanted to please. Rise higher in the ranks.”

“And?” Rowena stares at Crowley, knowing there is a correct answer but not quite able to figure out what it is. 

“I don’t know what to say Fergus. They’re demons, they pretty much all just did what demons do.”

“Exactly! Boring. Unoriginal. All the same vices. All wanting to rise to the top. All thinking they can do better.” 

“So? Ye also think ye can be better.”

“Yes, but I actually can. Now, I don’t want Hell filled with demons that are constantly trying to plot, and plan, and outmaneuver me. Or demons who are so mind numbingly dull that they can’t figure out how to creatively guide a situation, let alone hold a conversation!”

“That, kind of describes most demons darlin.”

“Again, exactly. So, what to do? Well, first off, vet new demons.” Rowena blinks. 

“You mean, deny contracts to people you don’t think would make good demons?”

“I’d be hanged, flayed alive, salted, fed to Hellhounds, and then put up as a living piñata in the break room if I suggested that mother. No. They go to the line, or to the library.”

“Library?”

“Just keeping my employees happy. Which is the second part, making sure new demons like their job. That, is the basics of the plan.” Rowena looks at her son confusedly. 

“But why?” Crowley sighs. His mother was smarter than this. Perhaps she just wanted him to talk, missed the sound of his voice, or the missed chances to actually talk to him. Crowley, I can tell, thinks that idea is absolutely the stupidest one I’ve ever had. However he doesn’t have another explanation that makes sense. 

“Mother. If they are happy where they are, and know I put them there, will they revolt? No. They work harder because their job... is their vice.” 

“So...those are the supposed loyalists?”

“Now you’re getting it. So, now that I won’t get those three minutes of my life back, may we continue with the contract?”

………….

“Ye know ye shouldn’t hide soul sparks in warded boxes, ye should use phylacteries.” We are going over the agreed upon uses of whatever percent Crowley will take from Rowena’s soul. Both Crowley and I pause at this comment. Crowley because he recognized the word but can’t place it, and I because I am thinking of the ramifications. 

“Pardon?” Phylactery, a soul receptacle for liches, undead wizards. They are hard to destroy and in some instances can actually collect souls themselves if tampered with. Crowley looks at his mother. “Chew Toy says they are soul receptacles...hard to destroy, collect souls themselves? Is that right?” Rowena stares at Crowley, well tries to stare at me, but I’m not really visible. 

“She told ye all this did she? Was she a witch?” I laugh, Crowley smiles. He had realized why he recognized the word. 

Two months. Two months stuck pretending to be me. That meant two D&D sessions. Two sessions where we just happened to be going up against a lich. 

Scary thing was, he was apparently good at it. I expected him to be great at the acting, even the strategy, but being able to accept the rolls the dice gave him? Of course when you can control the movement of dice by will...

“That, would have been boring, now wouldn’t it?” I chuckle. That was true. If you can control the outcome it can be satisfying, but it does get boring. 

“What are ye going on about?”

“I had an interesting two months where I pretended to be Chew Toy for...various reasons. She had, interesting hobbies…” Crowley taps his pen and ponders something I had pondered on occasion. How many real demons and witches and monsters used their knowledge to create engaging entertainment. “I do believe at least two witches work in the game industry. Either that or one of you lost a journal a very long time ago.” Rowena blinks. 

“Well, I’m sure I’ll know what that means eventually. Now, we need to go over subsection 12 in paragraph 2. Now I know this is a completely new contract, jest for me, and while I’m appreciative, I don’t think it is quite fair to-“

“Mother. Demon. You may have retained most of your pretty white luster, I did not.”

“I always did wonder about that darling. Why are ye red?” Rowena asks, obviously trying to distract, or placate, so they can come to an agreement on the problematic subsection 12. 

“I always thought it was because I loved too much.” I feel my entire being tighten as I laugh. “Now, subsection 12...non negotiable mother.”

“But Fergus-“

“Mother, you break the NDA, I own your soul. Ad infinitum.”

“Darlin. I’m a denizen of Hell. You already own it.”

“Not with freeheld ownership.” Rowena sighs. If Crowley got freeheld ownership...well he had just explained it. 

“Fergus. To yer own mother?” Crowley stares. 

“De-mon.” Rowena side eyes her son and purses her lips. 

“How about I share the location of the rest of my spell books? The...book of the damned?” Crowley scoffs. 

“Do you have a way to destroy it?”

“N-no? Why would you want-“

“Mother, if that book is available, someone could use it. Artefacts with that type of power, cause power plays, attempts to grab my throne. If I’m the only game in town, everyone comes to me. No. Unless it’s poorly hidden, I don’t care.” Crowley looks at his mother. “You did hide it where it’s inaccessible, not just ...hard to find, right? I don’t want that book available to anyone. Ever!” Rowena stares. Her son had changed. There was a time when he would have given anything for that book, for its power. To gain power quickly, ensure his victory then and there. Now he was going through with a plan that required something he always claimed to not possess. 

Patience. 

If Crowley waited, just quietly collected souls…

“Yer’ serious about this, aren’t ye Fergus?” 

“About what? My contract with you? It’s passing time.” 

“No Fergus. This plot of yers! This...gatherin’ of souls! When will it stop? When ye rival Lucifer? When ye explode? When ye can’t be killed? When, when ye cease to be my son?!” Crowley pauses with a glass half way to his mouth. Rowena was showing concern, actual concern. No, no she just wanted to know how powerful he thought he could get, it had to be. That’s what you’re thinking, right Crowley? 

He sends a jolt of pain my way, rips into me with red smoke; a half second of a reaction before ignoring me. 

“Mother. Many things can kill me, it just doesn’t stick as well as it should anymore. I believe once, when I was still with Chew Toy on the first contract, I got half way into the empty before her soul pulled me back. Was drowsy for a day or two after that.” I remembered that, he had come to me and instead of the normal banter or take over, he slept for two days. Fun fucking two days. Terrifying. But fun. Summoned an angel blade so I could sketch it, and his scotch for when he woke up. Didn’t dare try anything else, but he was appreciative enough of the scotch to forgive the fact that I had used his powers. He took the drawing though. Pity, it was a good sketch. “Also, you seem to be under the impression that I plan to stop collecting souls.” Rowena’s eyes widen. 

“Ye...what!?” 

“Until now, no side effects. And the side effects, not entirely unpleasant. Besides, do you really... want to find out what happens if I go into withdrawal, from this?” Rowena visibly cringes. I would if I could too. On the show...Crowley went through what, five... six humans worth of blood? And those were the ones that were visible...on a show that was on tv and made palatable for the common viewer. Crowley smirks. “How many bodies did Sam tell you I drained.” Rowena is silent. “Did he even tell you?”

“He said twenty.” I cringe. Not at the number but at Crowley's reaction. 

“Mother, a month, 20 bodies? I’m a growing demon, try 152.” 

“Fergus! Demons dinnae grow!”

“Well, not then maybe, but now. I think I’ve grown a rather poetic three inches since I started my new diet.” He taps his pen on the desk and waits for his mother to fumble, make a mistake. She had already made some; a few today, and some long ago that still festered. “So, mother dearest, many things point to you having changed, but I don’t buy it. Not after the things you said, DID to me.” Crowley stands and begins to circle the desk. 

I could cry. It was like knowing the future. When he let me in on his plans. Nearly every outcome was going to end in pain. 

He was tired. Tired of ‘friends’ and ‘family’ changing their mind about him. Betraying him. He was done. Perhaps everyone respected him for his sacrifice, missed him, loved him. 

Look how long that lasted. 

Castile killed him, or tried, again, because he wanted to bury two very powerful objects. And hadn’t even really let him explain.

Dean only called him from the Empty because he needed something. And even then it was something that probably could have been resolved by confronting the boys greatest fear. Talking. 

Sam cursed him and tried to trap him when he came to make a deal with Dean regarding Sam’s soul, despite that being the best way for Crowley to give them a fighting chance against his mother. 

The demons didn’t hesitate to replace him, didn’t care he left. It’s why he had gotten rid of 79% of them with dangerous job placements and then went on the biggest recruitment drive ever to make new demons. 

And well, his mother, she had taken too much from him. He wouldn’t believe her until he had proof. 

Painful proof. 

“Fergus, I-“

“When you killed your dear little boy Osrik-“

“Oskar!”

“Whatever. I gave you a choice-“

“It wasn’t much of a choice dear, and I forgave you for that, it was my fault you- “ Crowley ignores her, nothing she said or did would make him believe her. Not anymore. Not even if he wanted to. 

“And yet, I gave you a choice, and would have stood by your decision. When you took My son, Your Grandson, from me, you declined to offer me the same. So, mother, I think it’s far more than you deserve, but I’m going to offer you three choices.” Crowley pauses and stands in front of her. “Sign the contract. Now.” They hadn’t even reached the bottom yet, where, from what Crowley had just let me know, it was obvious that the contract wasn’t really about giving Crowley a safe spot to retreat to if he died. Crowley raises a brow. “Return to your prison, or...join me.”

“Fergus...Crowley, I’m already here.” Crowley huffs a slight laugh. 

“Sorry mother, in the suspense of the moment I suppose I could have worded that better. I meant join Chew Toy.” 

“Fergus, I love-“

“Prove it! You have said that to me before, and lied, used and abused a feeling you Knew I craved more than any other! You Know what demons are! A contradiction of reduction and amplification of their human needs! Did you know mother, it took half the time it usually takes to turn me into a demon? I thought I was weak; no, it’s because before I was even in Hell someone had already begun the process of destroying Fergus. I didn’t know how to love when I was alive! I only learned, from the bloody Winchester’s, what family meant! And they still bloody betrayed me! And the sickest, most depraved, horrible thing is...” Crowley has been pacing, circling, not looking at her, not seeing her tears until now. “I Still crave your love.” The words are a jab, a leash leading her to a challenge that he could use to break his mother’s floodgates. He was an actor after, trained and practiced in eliciting the reaction he wanted from an audience. This was no different. 

“Ye have it Fergus!”

“Prove. It.” Rowena looks up with a tear stained face. Full of regret that this is what she had caused her son to become, even if it meant he was one of the more powerful beings on the planet. 

“What would ye have me do? How?”

“Mother. A soul can’t lie. So…” a pen appears on the desk, a familiar one. “Sign it.” 

“And that will do what? Allow ye to destroy me at will?”

“So? You love me, don’t you trust me?”

“Fergus, I will always love ye, but I will never trust ye.” Rowena looks at her son and turns, silently, toward the contract. I watch, silently, as she uncaps the pen. Crowley stands in the silence, as she puts pen to paper. 

And I cry, silently, as she signs it. 

She looks at her son as the contract vanishes and Crowley raises a hand, fingers ready to make his favorite sound. 

And the silence breaks like the false hope both of us held.


	26. The Lie of Omission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the king of hell does what he does best.
> 
> Also, hey, comments and critiques are nice. Just not ones that say you're a horrible person for writing this. I know this, it's a horror story, I'm horror-ible. 
> 
> Punpunpunpunpun.

“Donati, I need a clean up crew in my California office immediately.” Crowley looks at the blood stain where the manufactured meat suit that held Rowena dwas moments before. “I have a meeting with an agent here tomorrow to go over young pop stars, and I can’t have a blood stain and a devil’s trap ruining the atmosphere. Be here in five. Oh, and send Ranni to the upstairs courthouse in ten.” Crowley hangs up and looks around. The office was indeed a mess, and Crowley could probably clean it up with a thought. 

But why be king if you had to do everything yourself. Besides, he had just cleaned up a mess far larger than this not too much earlier. 

He looks at the three jars with souls in them and with a wave they vanish. And so does he. 

We sit on the throne in the earth courthouse. We had ten minutes until it was back to business, and I had a feeling I knew what each single one was for. 

“Seventy to thirty percent Chew Toy. Now. Let’s get a look at our newest tenant.” 

I can feel the presence move from an untouched area free of smoke, to right next to me. Rowena. 

_ “You must be Chew Toy...Rebecca.”  _

There wasn’t really a need for a full voice here, the one you hear when you think, or read. Mine had gone near right away; my only voice was the one that I heard when I thought… I didn’t need more. Everything was just ideas now. Emotions. Facts. It had become that quite quickly for me for some reason. Crowley encourages it. He hated hearing souls trying to talk to him, to each other...But if he said it was ok. 

Crowley is silent, waiting. But I sense faint approval. 

He is waiting for us to get acquainted, for his mother to feel the information my soul could give her. Before he tore into her. He hadn’t touched her yet, he was waiting to find out what she felt. Holding off the moment of truth so he can just enjoy the fact that he has beaten her, just for a bit before it’s ruined by annoying facts or emotion. 

_ “Ninety years ye’ve known my son, that’s more than I ever have. What have ye learned of him?” _

_ “He’s the King of fucking Hell Rowena. More than Abbadon, more than Lucifer, more than any other demon he fits the role that most people believe the devil fills. If he could play fiddle as well as he does drums…” _

_ “Oh I don’t know a thing about drums but he can play the fiddle darlin’. He learned at 5.” _

_ “Started learning?” _

_ “No. Just-“ _

“That’s enough, let’s do some soul searching.”

Every soul can feel each other’s pain here, and Rowena’s… well Lucifer would use the word exquisite. Abbadon might use the word fun. If I were a demon I might use the word satisfying. A long time ago Crowley would have used the word boring. 

Now, Crowley uses the word energizing. 

Rowena screams as he pulls information from her. Pain as a soul is different than when you were in a body. It is pure. It is something that you can’t easily compartmentalize. You can barely grow used to it if it is being done on purpose. It is all encompassing. 

Crowley loves the feeling. It ‘makes his smoke quiver.’ Now however, it isn’t about that at all. It is about revenge. Personal, messy, long overdue, revenge. Revenge that will, after a probably intense labor, birth satisfaction and truth. So he searches the one who brought him into the world a pure white soul and who led him on the path to turning that dark red. He doesn’t know why his smoke is red and not black, but I have an idea. After all, demons crave things like sex, violence, money, attention. 

Demons, they don’t crave love. 

Sure the need was twisted into a megalomaniac like craving for attention and adoration, but Crowley still wanted love. Loyalty. Truth.

At conventions, over 59 years ago now, as Mark Sheppard he had said for years, while trying to trick his fans, that Crowley wasn’t a demon. I don’t think Crowley really believed that, but I’m not so sure. 

I think he may have been right. Just a bit. After all, demons can’t eat souls. I don’t care what the contract said, it shouldn’t have been possible.

So Crowley has to be something else, in my opinion, even if just slightly. Just enough. Just to make him red. Perhaps it wasn’t what he craved, perhaps it was something undefined yet.

I am in far more personal pain suddenly, my ideas cut short. Crowley wants quiet while he picks apart the information he wants. So there is silence. For moments of eternity there is silence as he examines every atom to verify and reverify. Seven minutes of examining, just like he said. Seventy to thirty. That left three minutes for conversation and reflection. 

He pulls his smoke out his mother’s soul and pauses, sits in the silence of the world outside his corporeal form while inside his own his mother is composing herself after the unbelievable amount of pain. He stares ahead. Thinking. Contemplating. Positing. Until...

“...Huh.”

_ “I told ye Fergus. I changed.”  _ Thinks Rowena, over the pain, it is temporary. She agrees with me on that. Anything that is temporary can be endured for a greater goal. Also, she doesn’t care if he hurts her. It was her fault her son was like this. And she was here to ‘fix’ that, support him in his new form. I could tell. I could feel it. 

So could Crowley.

And he had no idea what to do with this information. For once in his long demon life, he has information that was worth something, that he had no idea how to use, or even react to.

I knew of course. Because love isn’t something you used, not if it was the goal in the first place. Crowley had every single answer about his mother he could ever want now, and there were a lot of answers. Some weren’t pretty, some made me cringe and recoil. Crowley could deal with those, Crowley could Use those. Regrets. Fears. Wants. Needs. Easily used.

But something given with no expectation of something in return? That is the love a mother has for their child.

And he didn’t know what to do with it.

And that was dangerous.

So there is quiet amidst a mild sensation of building pain and pressure from ambient anger and confusion. After all, he had what he wanted. Now what to do with it?

Abuse it? To what end? Revenge? He could tell that it wouldn’t break her, it would only enforce the regrets she had over what he had become Because of her. And she would still love him.

And that confused him more. He’d had love before, from his human family, from his fans, but not where the craving originated. Not from his mother. This was new, unrequited love for him not just as Fergus, but as Crowley.

So...embrace it?

...How? 

Of course the problem is Still that he was trying to Do something with it at all. So he sits; and thinks, and the ambient pain of anger born from not knowing what to do, grows. So he sits; lost in his thoughts that he is letting, at least me, feel the edges of. Perhaps it is on purpose… perhaps not...

I just wonder if I have a new roommate. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Crowley however, is thankful for my curiosity, because it is something else to focus on other than this latest triumph turned sour.

“For a couple decades Chew Toy, until it doesn’t matter if anyone knows what I’m doing.” I suppose it is possible that that could happen. I didn’t know how he planned to achieve that.

“ _ So that’s what he meant by show… I’m quite the bonnie lass aren’t I?” _

We are both taken out of our musings by the comment. I hadn’t realized Rowena was looking through my memories with that much detail. 

“ _ Yes, the actress that portrayed you was quite good. Most of the actors and actresses on the show were phenomenal. It’s why it went for so long. No the plot, not the monsters; the characters. That’s always what it is. The most boring interactions in the world can be made engaging if the characters are interesting.”  _

Crowley rolls his eyes. He agreed, he had to, he had used that idea to his own advantage for years upon years. That didn’t mean he couldn’t think this conversation was beyond cliche and boring.

Luckily for him we are interrupted by the doors opening, our 3 minutes are up. A young woman walks in, mini skirt and glasses starts a school girl look and a black tie finishes it. High heels click on the stone floor for a moment before she comes to a stop in front of Crowley.

“Ranni. Prompt as always.” She bows ever so slightly.

“My king. What can I do for you today?” Crowley smiles. Ranni was one of the fans. Specifically one of his too. She was in college for business at the time and she had sold her soul for VIP tickets to any convention she wanted for 10 years, and the guarantee she’d be in upper management after she died. Crowley delivered, and she is now one of the few who reported directly to him on a regular basis.

“Income report, last quarter?” Ranni begins to talk without even looking at her papers.

“Uninitiated crossroads deals were down a full 10%, but ones we got from apps were up 42.6%. We lost 2 demons to hunters, but that was mitigated by the gain of 14 new demons, and 162 new souls for the library and line.”

“Very good. And has the library been working well?”

“Critical success.”

“There are enough souls so none get demonized by accident?”

“They are rotated out from active duty every week, but we may need more soon. Some are...” Starting to crack would be a kind term. The souls the demons took out from the library to ‘play’ with would slowly start to turn into demons themselves if not given reprieve. Even then...the torture of knowing they would, or could, be sent back on the active roster to be checked out, that was a form of torture in itself. All of them would eventually turn. It could take eons if they were rotated out with ones in the line, but then the line would become a haven, not the form of torture it was supposed to be.

Crowley and Rowena listen to my ideas. Crowley with an acknowledgement that he had indeed already realized this, and Rowena with a bit of interest that this was where my mind went. Not to horror that the souls were playthings, but logistics. I felt ashamed, but I was wired that way. Any problem I was presented with I immediately wanted to see if I could figure it out. I had an answer for this problem, but Crowley already knew it, and had thought of it himself. 

It was the secondary purpose of the library after all.

“Remove the ones that are breaking and have them sent here, with their paperwork. Replace them as soon as possible.”

“Yessir.” She doesn’t even question it. She doesn’t care. It meant it wasn’t her problem any more and that meant it wasn’t something that she could fail at. To Crowley, it was an emergency stash.

“Do you enjoy the library yourself?” She makes a look of distaste.

“No. Not really my thing. Too controlled and confined. I’d rather go upstairs and see if I can tear some valley girls' friendship apart with some well placed texts.” That’s one of the reasons Crowley like her, she liked a challenge and didn’t care for normal torture. It bored her too, or perhaps it was a bit too violent for her. Not all of his new demons liked violence. He nods in approval.

“I’ll give you a pass to go upstairs for two days, bring the approval form and contract to me tomorrow and we’ll sign.” Ranni looks up, a surprised, but very tentative, smile on her face.

“Th-thank you sir!”

“But first a few things for you to do before you grab that form. One, announce there will be a meeting for anyone not on duty. An hour.” She takes a note. “Second. Whatever deal is going down right now with...a cheater of any kind, have them brought here before the contract is signed. I want to see to it personally.” She looks at the king for a moment, curious. Curiosity was dangerous, he had just found that out first hand at the warehouse. “I don’t enjoy the library Ranni. What I do enjoy is watching the myriad of confused emotions on a mortal’s face as they sign a contract. However, I don’t have time to go find one myself before the meeting; and I need to unwind.” This made sense, he was King of the Crossroads, everyone knew he loved that job, after all he still held the title himself. It meant extra work for him, but it meant he owned all the contracts a bit more directly than the King of Hell would. He also didn’t trust anyone else with the job. However he didn’t have as much time to be there personally anymore, he probably missed it. Right? 

Oh Ranni, it’s sad when even I can see the thoughts a demon has just by looking at their face. It’s sad because of how right and how wrong you are. If Crowley wanted to do something, he made time. He just didn’t feel like going through his own dossiers right now, none of the prospects there interested him at the moment. Besides, this was a primary protection, he still had his secondary. Me, and his little boxes of my sparks hidden around the world. What he wanted was a surprise. He might meet them and decide they weren’t worth his time, give them a standard rider and wait for a bit. Or...give them his personalized contract. 

Ranni nods and takes another note. “I’d like them here within 5 minutes, can you do that?” She pauses at this and she takes out her phone. She sweeps through it and reads, nods, frowns.

“I am so sorry sir-”

“Yes?” She swallows and tenses, you didn’t disappoint the King of Hell. Best case, you’d be yelled at, thrown against a wall, and dismissed with a single second chance that might even have a time limit. Best case. Worst case…

“It may take 15 minutes sir, my greatest apologies.” I snort, Rowena scoffs. Crowley...

“You have ten. Finally, we need a new demon for the official architect position.”

“Lionel, you mean?”

“Yes, I fired him. He was snooping in my chambers instead of actually doing his job there.”

“Gross.”

“Yes. Send some recruiters to architectural colleges to look for prospects. I want a list on my desk by Friday.”

“Yes sir. ….” There was a question on her lips, one she didn’t want to ask without permission. If it wasn’t completely necessary...and she didn’t get permission… Well, Crowley hated wastes of time. He was in an accommodating mood at the moment though.

“Yes Ranni?”

“Can...can I spend my vacation at one of the colleges? I can snoop around and well...every college has a cheerleading team and an anime club. I could vet them both...and destroy them from the inside out if they have nothing to offer.” Crowley pauses, he had succeeded. A demon that wanted to work on her vacation, to please him and because it was Fun for her. 

“Add form 33d to the approval form and grab the work visa contract extension and transfer form as well. You will be added to the vetting team for this mission. Find a suitable temp for your job and send me her resume by the end of the day. Dismissed.” She nods and turns to exit. “Oh, one more thing.” She freezes, that was never good. “Tell the detail at my mother’s prison they should meet Darana for reassignment until further notice. Also, when Croney is done fixing the door give her the form for a one day reprieve...if she wants it.” Ranni exhales. It didn’t have to do with her. 

“Yessir.” 

“Also, I know you’re thinking about the negative repercussions on yourself if you supply a temp that fails…” She stiffens. “So, look up optional amendment... 23C, for the temp replacement form.” 

“Y-yessir.” I would laugh if I could. Crowley really liked this demon.

“ _ Why, what’s amendment 23C?” _ Asks Rowena _.  _

Ranni continues out the door and it closes behind her and my suspicions are confirmed as Crowley watches her leave, noting how she is already going through her phone to find him the contract he wants. There is a loud thunk as the guards on the other side make sure the door shuts completely.

“It’s the clause I wrote up when I was rising through the ranks. It removed all responsibility of the recruiter from the actions or failures of the temp replacement.” 

_ “So ye do like her? Do I hear wedding bells?” _

“Red, I already did the marriage thing, it was wonderful, romantic, etc. Not doing it again.” 

“ _ Wait, ye got married and dinnae tell me!”  _ Says Rowena ignoring the hated nickname, but no way was Crowley going to be caught talking to his mother when she wasn’t there.

“Red, I had kids again and ‘dinnae’ tell you. And before you ask, they will never meet you. They are not part of this world, and I have seen to it that it remains so.”

_ “Why?”  _ Crowley sighs.

“I want to create one thing in this world that has No relation whatsoever to the reality of the supernatural. It used to be Gavin.”

_ “But why Fergus?”  _ Crowley smiles.

“Because Red, Chew Toy was right. I am not a normal demon. I want my fingers in every single pie so I can take a taste whenever I want.”

“ _ What is that supposed to mean? Also, while we’re talkin’ about earth and things ye’ve put on it...Ye’re letting demons out of Hell, for fun?!”  _ Rowena is incensed, the damage they could cause if they weren’t there on business...well. However, she hadn’t been here for a while, she didn’t really know how the new army worked.

“Red, the form for requesting a trip upstairs is 11 pages and approved only by me on a contract 3 pages long. I know where they will go, what they plan to do, and for how long. If they deviate for anything other than business or survival the approval contract tells me where they are.”

_ “And what do ye do with that information?” _

“Whatever I want. Usually I have them returned and revoke their privilege to a physical body.”

_ “Usually?” _ Crowley sighs, she knew very well what the other option was. However only one of those contracts had been broken so far, because everyone was very happy with this arrangement. 

“ _ Why though?” _

“Red, I am not the only one who hates the atmosphere down in Hell. Happy employees are loyal employees. I learned that the hard way.” What he really meant is happy employees are loyal and adoring. They looked at him like he was a god who made their dreams come true. Sure he was cruel, but rarely for no reason. Besides, as long as it wasn’t them and it wasn’t too often, who cared? Demons, after all. 

The door creaks open and a demon wheeling a cart comes in. The cart contains the sixteen souls from the library that were battered and weak. They would recover with time, but the theoretical threshold or tank that needed to be filled for one to turn into a demon, had already started. He looks over them in their jars and picks up the first one’s dossier and contract as the other demon walks out.

An accountant who embezzled and needed a bailout from jail. Not good for any department, he had hated his job and loved and obsessed over nothing other than money, but hated working to get it. He hated working at anything. His vices, women and booze. Most certainly not compatible with any aspect of Crowley’s Hell. He didn’t need another entitled rapist. He also didn’t really want that boring of a soul in his head for a year. He waves his hand and the jar is pushed to one side. He’d go into Crowley’s personal fish tank that he kept for emergencies, like soul bomb emergencies.

He picks up the second dossier.

An actress who sold her soul for fame. He pauses, that should be someone that would be turned into a spy demon, or a recruiter. He flips through the pages. Nope. Acting was a ploy for attention for her, she wanted to be adored, not to create. That meant competition for him, but she could be interesting to have around. He waves the bottle to the other side. She would stay in a jar.

He picks up the third, and pauses. Alexa. A girl barely 23. That means she was 13 when she made a deal. He flips through and sighs. She had sold her soul to fix her brother’s leukemia. This was one of the more annoying contract types. Innocent soul asking for something for someone else and then getting pulled down in ten years. He hated these. The people rarely made good demons. He continues to flip through and he cocks his head, eyes interested. Before she died she had gained an appreciation for older buildings, drawing them specifically. It wasn’t a vice, but it was something she did with enough frequency to call it an obsession. It had some possibilities. 

“ _ For what Fergus?” _

He sets it aside from the others, ignoring her.

He is about to pick up the fourth when the door opens. He looks up and Ranni comes in with a mildly annoyed crossroads demon and a human with overalls and a missing tooth. The mortal is unimpressive and doddering, but Crowley had stopped judging on initial impressions ages ago. People faked those, or they only portrayed half of someone. Robert Singer was proof of that. There were too many ways initial impressions were problematic, so if he had the time, he never trusted them. 

The group stops feet from the throne and the demons bow, but the crossroads demon bows slightly less. She is annoyed, this was supposed to be a notch on her belt, not the king’s. 

“Sana. I know this one was yours, so here.” He points to the jar with Alexa in it. “Take this one. Personal use.” Sana looks up at this, curious. The king didn’t give away things for free, no matter how appreciative she was. “Demonize her, quickly. Then send her to Ranni to join the new architectural team.” At this Sana nods, while Ranni looks confused, for about half a second. 

“Thank you lord. I will take great pl-”

“I don’t care. Just do it...quickly.” He points to the jar and she quickly walks up and takes it, then promptly leaves. Ranni looks at Crowley, makes a note, nods for affirmation, and then begins to walk out. She pauses before she reaches the door. 

“How many on the architectural team for now my lord?”

“Three to start. See if you can find a teacher along with a student at the same college. Let’s see how they do.” She nods, takes another note and walks out, closing the door behind her this time.

Crowley looks at the human, who is unbound, standing up straight, and confused.

“So, you’d like to make a deal?”

“Y-yes?”

“So, what do you want?” Crowley stands and both Rowena and I watch the play about to take place, because Crowley always put on a show whether he intended to or not.

“To not be in debt?”

“That’s all? Not to be insanely rich, not for the loan sharks to be dead? Just...no debt?” The man shakes his head in affirmation.

“I-I don’t git the fun of building it up if I gots it already.” Now, that was interesting. Crowley walks up to the man and regards him with more than a little interest. The man keeps talking nervously. “I gots a lotta money, I just gots more debt. Wasn’t even frem gamblin.”

“Then from what?” At this the young man’s eyes widen and he takes a very deep breath.

“Student loans. Got dere claws in me deep. Won’t fucking ledgo eider.” I sigh, Crowley sighs, Rowena is confused. The astronomical cost of learning was one of the few things Hell hadn’t actually done. Crowley wanted various levels of intelligence, different deals, different types of vices, different types of demons. And America generated the most deals right now, but....the insane cost of learning meant not as many people got the chance to become interesting or useful. Perhaps he could get some deals for eradicating student loans though. 

He muses upon my thought for a second before nodding to the young man.

“And what did you go to college for?”

“Uh...well my parents wanted me ta go fer farm economics…”

“But…?”

“Uh, I went inta chemistry and microbiology. Ta help create better pesticides that don’t hurt things cept they supposed ta hurt.” Crowley nods, he was right, there was more to the kid than his appearance. 

“And you like to gamble? What’s your poison?”

“Poker or hearts I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Well, if I could gamble playing chess I would, but it’s not really that type a game.” Crowley wasn’t really one for games, at least board games. He played bigger ones, but this was still impressive.

“People constantly underestimate you, don’t they?”

“Why you think I’m wearing overalls instead of a fancy suit?” Crowley frowns. He wanted a contract for himself, but this kid was too good of a prospective demon to use for that. However...if his only vice was gambling…

“And what do you like about gambling? The risk, the tension?” The kid laughs.

“No, I could git dat by goin on a fuckin rollercoaster. Nah, tricken and beaten people outta dere money when dey tink dey’re better dan you? Now dat’s a high.” There it was, crossroads demon material. Crowley nods in approval.

“You know who I am?”

“Dey didn’t tell me, but I’m gonna guess someone high up. Reason I’m bein so forth-commin.” Crowley tilts his head.

“How so?”

“Sir, ifn yer a demon, a high up one, lyin ain't gonna get me noffin. Yer here ta give me what I want, in exchange fer a soul. Well I gots a soul, but if I’m talkin to a higher up I got chances of negotiatin. Lyin won’t help me make a deal.” 

“And what do you want to negotiate on?”

“I’m bettin I can get you more dan jest mine. My soul I mean. So I keep mine an”

“Pass.” At this the kid starts, and gulps. 

“I thought you...you would want more souls.”

“Oh, I do, but I want you as a permanent employee too. Counter offer. You do what you’re saying, collect souls for me, and I won’t, personally, collect yours until the end of your natural life, Not ten years.”

“I...didn’t know the deals were for that short a time.”

“People usually don’t know. Now...deal?”

“Why...why you want mine so much?”

“Because, I want you to continue doing what you love long after you die. Tricking people out of their belongings, forever. Doesn’t that sound fun?” The kid turns his head as Crowley circles him and finally stands still back where he started. He ponders then holds out his hand.

“You gotta deal mister.” Crowley shakes his head.

“It’s a bit more intimate than that.” The kid blinks. “What, you’ve come so far and you’ll back out because-”

“Naw, I’m jest wondering if my boyfriend’ll mind.” Crowley looks at the kid in pleasant surprise. “Naw, he’ll have to do it too anyway.” The nameless future demon continues at the questioning expression on Crowley’s face. “I play people at poker, he brings the drinks...and info on odder people’s hands if da pot is big enough. He’s ma partner, heaven or Hell. Knows I’m makin da deal after all. Jeb’s probably worried sick, he was gonna pick me up an hour ago.” This, now this was a depraved human.

“Good thing you chose Hell then, everyone gets seperate rooms in heaven. ...A demonic love affair. Romantic. So, we’ll have us a kiss, and then I’ll come find you say... tomorrow midnight, to do a deal with Jeb?” The kid nods. “So, I don’t usually kiss people whose name I don’t know, so?”

“Uh, Charles, and same.” The kid looks at Crowley shakily, just a tad overwhelmed now that the deal was actually happening, and seemingly involved his boyfriend. He was confident when it was all theoretical. Crowley just takes a step closer.

“Darling, I’m the King of Hell.”

…………………….

Crowley muses over the jars, disappointed he didn’t get the contract he wanted, but quite satisfied that he got two souls out of what was supposed to be a single one; and would probably get more. Still, he felt a bit ‘naked’ without a full contract. He had me, but it was a spark that would draw him back, and he didn’t like it, even if it worked. He sighs and looks at the cart with the souls.

Overall 12 of the souls are going into the fishtank, two are being kept in jars, and one is in his hands as he contemplates something. I know what it is, so Rowena feels my idea.

_ “Fergus! No, we just got three out of you and court is in half an hour!”  _ He sighs, but sets the soul down. He stands and looks around for a moment before we-

Are in Hell. His room specifically. The warding there didn’t affect him after all, not anymore. There is a growl from the right.

“Calm Growley. It’s just Daddy.” The growling stops and turns into a whine. “Yes, I promise you will have a job soon.” Crowley walks to the painting, and soon the hidden cupboard is open.

“ _ Fergus, so many!” _ Crowley rolls his eyes as he puts the 13 souls into the fishtank.

“Mother, this isn’t half what my collection was before it was raided.”

_ “Fergus, I don’t care about that, the x-demons-”  _ There is a jolt of pain through our world, and Rowena is silenced.

“I’ll ask for your opinion, Mother, about my eating habits if I want to hear it. I’ll admit you were right about 6 fresh souls being too many, but... shut up.” The three going on the shelf are carefully arranged there before two more are added. Two of the ones from the fight earlier are put there as well; and Don, who is giving Crowley a headache. That meant that somewhere in here the artist and a demon were being slowly and methodically torn apart. “The one who wore my suit.” Of course, yeah that was kinda gross to do. Crowley looks at the souls and ponders something.

Does he need a physical example at this meeting? Proof that this indeed how he punishes those who betray him?

I mean, show and tell always made me happy as a kid.

“ _ It’s far scarier than jest hearing about it darlin. Jest refrain from eating it in front of anyone.” _

__ “Mother, I’m an addict, not an idiot.” He grabs one of the two demons and closes the cupboard. The jar is placed in...wherever he sends things to wait for him to use them, and he looks at the ceiling where there was supposed to be a devil’s trap. 

“Growley, I know you love being in daddy’s room, but how about we make you your own?” There is a whine and Crowley sighs, looking at the giant hound. “I have a job for you. Man named Charles. Guard him until I come. Can you do that for daddy?” There is a growl and the hound is gone, just like a demon. Crowley sighs. “Ok. No other demon is using this body, ever. That can be solved with a few tattoos on an intestine, but… another time. Croney’s birthday is coming up, she always did enjoy pulling my intestines apart, a few tattoos during that...”

Ew, and ow.

_ “Fergus, that is a dangerous position to-” _

“Do shut up, both of you. Just visiting happy memories. I’ll be doing it myself, on the ribs. The more immediate problem... No demon is coming into my room without my permission. Ever.”

“ _ Not even for-” _

“Mother, do you see a bed? Or chains? Or anything remotely fun in here? No. I have another room for that. Doubles as a torture chamber. And if I ever get the inclination to use it, you will be promptly kicked out into a jar for the entire experience. One of the few kinks I don’t have, will never have, and do not want to have, is anything involving blood family, especially you. Now...again, without interruptions, Chew Toy...How do I paint on the ceiling...and not ruin my suit?”

Slowly Crowley. Slowly. 

  
  


………………….

  
  


We reach the courtroom with 43 seconds to spare. Crowley sits on his throne and takes out the jar from the air. He sets it on the arm for all to see, and we wait. Rowena begins to speak but...

“Red, you talk at all during this, and I will strip you apart atom by atom, put you back together, dump you in a blender, then use that to make a bloody mary, and Drink it.”

_ “Rude, but fine.”  _

“Demon. And last warning.” The doors open and demons file in. The room is filled within moments and the variety there astounds me. There is more diversity in this room right now than I’ve ever seen topside before. Crowley had called back more than he had ever previously. For any meeting besides the one that was mandatory for the entirety of Hell.

“Ladies, gentlemen, other. There have been rumors in the ranks that I have been turning demon souls human.” There is silence. “I am here to put those rumors to rest… They are true.” Hushed whispers, nervous energy, shuffling, and a bit of pressing against the door. The demons don’t quite know how they should react to this. A few don’t care, but most are either scared, or curious. The latter was more dangerous. Crowley holds the jar up.

“This, was Bonard. He is now, once again, Stephan J Townsen, and he, betrayed me. He, and three others, stole my body, conspired against me, and seeded distrust in my ranks. This, this is their punishment.” Once again, silence. “I’m sure you’re wondering why.” There are a few nods and murmurs. “I’ll answer that question with one of my own. How many hear like the idea of having a molten hot rod drawn across their bare flesh?” Again silence. “Don’t be shy, you’re Demons.” A few raise their hands. “And how many like knives?” A few others raise their hands. “So...does that seem a very good punishment for a demon? No, not really. I’d say this is far worse. Sitting in a jar, alone, with nothing but yourself, to slowly rot and weaken. That is the punishment that awaits those who cross me.”

A timid, but brave, voice in the back pops up.

“So what do you do with them?”

“I just told you! Now, in lighter news I will be introducing a new type of contract within the next week. A two for one. A contract for couples. Those who wish to be on the research team for it, report to my office at one AM tomorrow... Dismissed.”

The room is empty within moments. And Crowley sits back and examines the jar. 

“Well, that was an interesting few days.”


	27. The Canceled Contracts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which attempts to save the two different views of the same world are made.

Many souls had gone down to Hell, many souls had gone to Crowley. He had more than doubled his intake rate. Another fifty years, 300 some contracts, and still only half of the souls went to Hell. 

Half of the anti-demon tools don’t work anymore. It used to be because there was too much human… now there is just too much. So much of him that just like angels...sometimes the people he tries to possess just explode if they are alive. 

He’d used that to get rid of humans on more than one occasion. 

And I had helped make that happen. Over and over again. In so many ways. Knowingly. Unwittingly. Willingly. Forced. The memory of every time I had helped split me in two with torment and pride. 

Then… it happens. The angels finally figure out what is going on. They try to stop him from getting more contracts, but there are too many options. They always miss one, and one is all he really needs. Of course...things eventually find a way. So one day we go to a deal and find an angel.

  
  


“Castiel. Good to see you. Like your new vessel.” Castiel stands there, a tall Indian man with beautiful eyes that did not match the hardness in them. The trenchcoat was still there, but the suit had been traded in for smart slacks and a vest. 

“Crowley.”

“So cold. Didn’t I save your life, at least twice?”

“You’re taking souls, into yourself. You saw what happened to me, Crowley.”

“And? You had leviathans. I just have souls. Souls that aren’t yours, they’re Hellbound, in more ways than one. Besides, they’re magically delicious.” 

“Crowley, I’ll give you one chance to let them free.” I laugh, Rowena laughs. The angels thought they knew what was going on, they really didn’t. 

“ _ The poor cherub. Go easy on him Fergus, he was a friend.” _

“Oh, you made mother laugh, she thinks I should go easy on you.” Castiel stares.

“Rowena...is in there?”

“Chew Toy too, you know, the first one? Brown hair, mid height, angular but forgettable face?” Castiel keeps his face as blank as he can.

“How many Crowley?” 

“Live ones? Just ….three.” At this Castiel squints and frowns, confused. That number didn’t track with the amount of contracts they had been keeping track of. I tense, was Crowley finally confident enough to let the secret out. The full secret? Sans the workings of course.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m really not. Tell him mother.” 

“He’s really not Castiel. Just three in here. How are ye-” Rowena’s voice comes out of Crowley’s mouth and is cut off as he takes control again.

“See, right from the demon slash witches mouth.” Castiel stares.

“I don’t believe you. You’re just mimicking her voice. Now let them go.”

“The three? Well, Chew Toy and mother are staying, and the other is, well they just feel nice inside me. Wriggling around, trying to get free. Ever been to Japan? Like eating one of those little live squids, except the squid doesn’t die for a year.” 

“Yes I’ve been to Japan. I’ve been everywhere. Let them go Crowley. All of them. Not just the three.”

“Oh, you mean the other 143. Well...Sorry. I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Crowley and I chuckle at the line, a throwback. 

“Actually, for once, I really can’t. They’re gone. But I’m not about to stick out my tongue so you can see I’m not hiding any.”

“What do you mean ‘gone?’ Souls can’t be destroyed.”

“No but they can be changed, and as embarrassing as it is to admit, I’ve gained a few pounds.” Cas still looks confused. Crowley sighs and snaps his fingers. A pile of yellow dust appears beside him. “Do you know what those are Cas? Check them.” Cas looks at them and squints.

“They have the energy of a demon contract.”

“Yes, and you know Hell, bit of a bureaucracy. We keep every contract, canceled or otherwise. So the fact that these are dust…” 

Castiel stares, starting to understand but not wanting to believe.

“What have you done Crowley?”

“Cas, you know what I’ve done, and I will continue to do it until I feel like stopping, which I don’t see happening. Now, since I’m not really mucking about in your business, just doing my job and then some, I’ll leave you be if you’ll do the same. Truce, in honor of the Winchesters. Who, I might add, are in heaven by my good graces alone. Rightfully, with what they’ve done…” Crowley shrugs. Cas stands silently.

“You ate them. The souls.”

“So crass Cas. But….yes.”

“I thought you had…”

“What? Become good? Cas, even Before you killed me, while I was only trying to prevent the use of the tablets, I was still A Fucking DEMON! I may have died to save the world, but it was also for me. I was bored, tired of dealing with the idiocy of demons and repetitiveness of winning then losing, then winning, then losing. But...you were in the empty, you know how it is. I had some good dreams, some nightmares, some ideas. So, no. I don’t want an apocalypse, I don’t want to rule the world, I don’t want heaven. I just want to enjoy my job and all the benefits it...how did you get that?” Castiel was holding a greenish piece of rectangular stone. The demon tablet. “Did you kill my dog? Again! I didn’t get cast as John Wick, but I’m sure I can pull off the performance!” Crowley steps forward, angry, but more than that he’s using the anger as an excuse to approach.

“No. But she did puke quite a lot. I’m sorry about this Crowley, but I can’t have anyone destroying souls.”

“I’m not destroying them! I AM THEM!” Castiel ignores Crowley and gets a vial out of his trench. Crowley freezes. “Castiel, I don’t know what you’re about to do, but-”

“I’m sorry Crowley, but you leave me no choice.”

It was the one thing worse than closing the gates to Hell.

  
  
  


He cancelled all the contracts. 

……………………………..

It’s chaos and not just for Crowley. Whole countries go to shit. Crops fail. Rain stops. Celebrities fade into obscurity. Thousands of divorces, more deaths. 

Crowley, the King of Hell, is angry. He lost thousands of contracts and also lost five rather personal souls that day. The white one he had just obtained, the one that had just disseminated into white sparkly mist, the pink one that was almost gone, his mother, and me. The rest...their contracts were gone, because their souls didn’t exist anymore. However, that still left a demon juiced up with over 140 souls, and he is quite miffed. Perhaps it’s because he is going through withdrawal. Perhaps it’s because he can’t find Rowena. Perhaps it’s because Hell is in turmoil.

But…. It’s Probably because I am in a holding room, in heaven. 

  
  


I of course have no idea what’s going on, except that I am in immense pain, being asked questions about the first contract. About Crowley. About his powers. About how in the Hell he was destroying souls. I might have answered some, right now I can’t remember. I’m too addled to know. I wasn’t even sure it mattered, with the contracts gone. Perhaps if they came back my actions during their ‘hold’ would terminate my contract, perhaps not. These were the fleeting thoughts between the moments of immense pain, I can’t think or do much else except scream.

I do however notice when the pain stops and the angels leave. I notice that there are noises outside. I notice that there is a voice I know. A voice that makes me feel safe and terrified at the same time. Talk about ingrained stockholm syndrome. 

I can hear when he knocks on the pearly gates, the reverberation echoing with alarms. I can feel when Hell comes to heaven. 

“Heavenly host, I do believe you have something of mine.” 

“She is no longer under your thumb Crowley. The contract is-“ There’s more ruckus, and then silence. Complete, and utter silence. 

And then an explosion. The floor cracks. Yells, screams, one I recognize.

“Stop being IDIOTIC INTERFERING CHERUBS! I’ve left you and your affairs alone for YEARS! I’ve been DOING MY JOB!” There was another loud boom. Silence. Then a knock on the door. I tense, not knowing who will enter, or who I would dread seeing more.

“Honey, I’m home.” 

“Crowley?” My voice cracks, with fear, lack of water, rawness, something. The door opens to reveal a battered being, smoke pouring out his eyes and ears, his vessel so broken it can barely contain his anger. He walks over to the table, and stops at the warding that guarded the box the tablet was in. It is powerful, ancient, and he can’t cross it without a human soul to hide in. Even with all his power. This is Lucifer level warding. The angels were that concerned.

He frowns, and snaps his fingers to let me free. “Give me a moment darling.” I can’t move, I’m too battered. He looks back at me and frowns, then with a thought from him I am just outside the building. I watch as he glares at the wards, unable to pass, but seemingly more annoyed than fearful. Another snap…

And the building just...falls. The ground cracks, destroying all the symbols that keep him from getting close to the table. The table however, containing another ring of symbols, stands. He frowns, then shakes his head and tries to do it the old fashioned way. He goes to pick up the end of the table, so the box with the tablet would fall off and maybe dent a single symbol. But he finds he can’t get any closer to that as well. He seethes, and the ground shakes once more, moving the box. It slides to the edge of the circle, and we can both tell that it’s made of metal from the screech... so no denting. 

And then an angel neither of us saw runs from behind the rubble.

There are sparks, the King of Hell twitches, red smoke is pulled back into his body so it can be pushed to the empty. 

There is an eternity of silence where I think it might be over; where I am elated, scared, and sad. I feel ashamed of my own emotions. Confused and angry at myself, at the angels, at Crowley, I sit frozen to the spot and think of the possibilities if he actually dies, and what could happen if he didn’t.

Then red smoke bursts forth, a storm more than a demon.

There is so much raging that I can’t see the angel, the table, or the box. Just the King of Hell. A hurricane of a demon, circling, raging. Suddenly the smoke stops, and moves backward, rushing toward a point. To his vessel. The angel is gone, the metal table is bent, just enough to warp a single symbol. I do not know what happened to that angel. 

Crowley frowns and swallows, his wounds slowly healing even as I watch, and once again tries to get close to the box. He can...but can’t touch it. Suddenly I’m beside the table. He looks at me, waiting for me to do what was expected. I realize that Crowley can still be killed, perhaps two angel blades, a great artefact...In this state, it would kill Crowley. But soon...even that might not work. Maybe. He frowns at me. 

“Darling. Rebecca. OPEN THE BOX!” I flinch, frozen in fear and unable to move. He sighs. “You have no idea what I will do to you if you do not open that BOX NOW!” I finally find my voice.

“Crowley, I’m sorry, but I can’t damn all of creation for you.” He stares at me as if I’m insane.

“All of creation? You think I want that!? Hell is a business, my business, I’m GOOD AT THAT BUSINESS. It requires a dichotomy! I don’t want to run this prissy little garden too! To have Hell and heaven, Humans need to have free will. They need to choose to damn themselves, be tempted. If I rule the earth, I can’t get that. What I would get is: screams, more paperwork, boring post apocalyptic scenery, no new innovation, no more scotch. BORING IS WHAT I WOULD GET. Now, open the box.” I still hung back. “Darling...the devil you know is one that knows what he wants, and what he wants is for you to OPEN THE BOX SO HE CAN GET BACK TO HIS DAMN JOB AND THRONE.” The ground shakes and I look around frantically for help. Everyone has fled, no one knows what I know. Then...then I look at the box and notice the biggest mistake of all time. If he just tips the table again...

“My patience is as thin as this veiled threat. If you d-”

“I won’t. I can’t Crowley. You think I want to be back in that prison with you?”

“You’d rather be up here, tortured by angels? Or fading into a ghost? Or even, if by a miracle, they let you go, sitting in your own heaven, unable to create things for other people?” He had points. Good ones. Still, on principle…

‘It doesn’t matter.” He looks at me with such anger in his eyes that if I hadn’t noticed that fatal flaw a moment ago, I would have opened the box. “Look at the front of the box Crowley.” He pauses, looks at it, then at me, and for the first time ever I have confounded the King of Hell. He looks again, then back at me ready to push me to the depths of Hell, then does a double take. He stares in disbelief. 

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” With a wave, the table disappears, the box falls...and the lid pops off. It didn’t have a latch. Whoever made this anti-demon box hundreds of years ago had deemed that a latch wasn’t important. Now, the tablet lay revealed, on the dusty white broken ground. He picks it up, looks at it, and curses.

“We need a prophet, don’t we Crowley.”

“Well...I know where to find a dead one.” 

Summoning the ghost is the easy part. Getting it to work with us is another story. The young man is tall and gangly, his hair sandy and his eyes hollow. The real world equivalent of Kevin Tran. 

“Hello Michael.”

“Crowley.”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed the problems happening. More ghosts popping up. Old ones reappearing.”

“Why am I here Crowley?”

“Simply put, all the contracts are broken. We can’t make new ones. There’s an imbalance.”

“Why would I help you?” Crowley sighs, shakes his head. I was thinking the same thing, for myself honestly. I have my entire soul back, for the express reason of Crowley not disintegrating it. He was down to the 10 ex-demon souls in his ‘food pantry’, if this takes too long...he needed to ration, and he didn’t like it. I can see the sweat on his face, very slight, but there. He is going through withdrawal. For years he had at least four or five souls at any given time. The first day after his were taken, he said he took four right off the bat… then it took two years to figure out how to get into heaven, and at least fifty souls were incinerated by his smoke in the effort it took to get there. Another 20 kept him sane while he, a demon, was in a place that should have caused him to literally explode. Then another year and a half to find and summon Michael. He was down to ten, he only had two with him now, x demons, and they wear away faster than ones that had only ever been human souls. They wouldn’t protect me. Crowley paces, and sweats.

“Heaven is in turmoil. I know, I caused it. It would be very easy to go up and take a stroll. Wander through the various personal heavens, maybe take a soul or two. Now, do I need to say more?” 

“I can’t read the tablets Crowley.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But we have one here and you’ve read them before. So, how do we break this little...lock, they put on my contracts?” Michael sighs.

“I can barely remember yesterday Crowley.” 

“The words of those tablets were Burned into your Soul. I saw it. Felt it. I will find it if I have to take you apart! You will remember them or read them; or be a memory yourself.” Michael sighs again. I watch all this from a fresh meat suit, two days old made by Crowley himself, and shiver. Crowley had left me out here, outside of my prison, saying he wanted my help, taunting me. We both knew he didn’t want to harbor my soul in case he destroyed it, his favorite toy.

I shouldn’t be helping. I shouldn’t be here. But I have nowhere else to go. Heaven meant lonliness or torture. Hell...well if I was down there Crowley would find me. Earth… 

Crowley leans close to the circle containing Michael.

“Can. This. Be. Fixed?” Michael sighs one final time, and then begins to talk.

“Yeah. It was meant as a reset, or punishment, not a ‘be all end all’ like closing the doors.”

“How do we fix it?”

“Uhm...You’re not gonna like it.”

“Don’t. Care.”

“The first ingredient, is a soul that was willingly freed from Hell.”

“Fine. Next?”

“Liquid Love.”

“Which MEANS?” 

“Uhm…” Michael shakes his head. “I think...A tear from a mother for her child.”

“Fine. And?” Michael frowns. 

“It’s hard…”

“And so was Micheal Jackson at Disney World! On with it!”

“A demon who… has done a true altruistic deed.” Silence reigns. 

“...Bollocks.” 

Crowley searches Hell for months, looking for a demon in a needle stack. The freshly turned. The old. The ambitious ones he sent to work in the pit. The generals from his new army. Nothing. I had an idea...or two. I didn’t say anything for months, kept quiet as the world crumbled and rebuilt itself. Kept quiet as another soul melted away. Kept quiet as Crowley began to get bored, irritated. Kept quiet as I walked beside him and noticed more and more glances being thrown in my direction, like a vampire trying to go cold turkey.

It happens on a Thursday. He decides he needs a fix of more than canned soul food...and home I go. He finds my ideas, and I pay dearly for keeping them from him. For a week I pay dearly. I feel bits of myself being torn away as he breathes slowly sitting in his chair at his California office, feeling everything I feel, not caring what it is because he is finally getting a fix that wasn’t just dulled fear and regret from x-demons or paranoia from canned souls.

“Oh, the things you do to me, Chew Toy. If I thought you wouldn’t die...but...maybe it’s time.”

The problem is...I’m not sure I mind that anymore. Knowing that I would just cease...I think I am ok with that. Maybe. I don’t really know. But it’d be interesting to finally be able to hear his thoughts until I just...became them. It might be nice, to be someone else. I mean, he still hadn’t told me what happened to those souls, how that worked. But whatever happened, it’d be interesting.

After that he lets me back out to help him. 

We search the rogue demons topside. Many had come home when they heard the trouble. The King of the Crossroads, current King of Hell, was fucked. His system didn’t work. Not without contracts. It was back to old temptation. However, we find one who didn’t return. In Wyoming. At a hospital. Who is taking care of his mother.

It’s a bust. He was keeping her alive to torture her. She was in constant pain from a degenerative disease and would be fine with painkillers... If the demon hadn't been switching them out. However, it worked with the second idea. 

It was the usual 8 hour process, left unfinished, but it took its toll. That night, the demon unplugged his mother from life support. Crowley probably made quick work of the demon, and traps it easily. 

The other two were easy compared to that, sadly. 

A mother, crying for her kidnapped child. Took a day apparently.

And a random soul from the line taken out and put in a jar. Crowley had no qualms about that. The job took what the job took. However, it didn’t take me. 


	28. The Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which art imitates life.

I’m in the barren salt flats. Camping. There is no turmoil here, there are no people here. Crowley and I had split up looking for the demon, and I had split. It would cost me, but it meant I could enjoy fresh air for a bit...until the spell was completed. I had no doubts it would be, Crowley had too much experience dealing with these things. It was just a matter of time. 

In the meantime I sit in a trailer at the salt flats, my fake flesh suit needing nothing, and paint. I hadn’t painted in years. So many years. I hadn’t drawn, or held a pencil to even write. I missed it so much. It was worth whatever torture I would endure once he found me. And he would. Despite the sigils I had Finally picked up along the way whose use would terminate my contract. Despite the fact that I had no contact with the outside world. Despite the fact that he didn’t know I was missing. 

I had taken $50,000 from a cash box Crowley had buried while I was with him...and bought a car, a trailer...and art supplies. Enough for years. It had taken some doing, and a shotgun, to brave the confused society, but I had what I needed. I had art supplies.

And when they ran out, it’d be time to go back.

They don’t last 3 months. 

I know he is there. I don’t even turn around. I just keep painting. 

“Hello Crowley.”

“Hello Chew Toy.”

“I see you found me.”

“Did you Really doubt I would?”

“No, I was just hoping to use up some more art supplies before I went back.”

“You were...planning on coming back? You missed our tete a tetes that much?” I sigh, and set my paint brush down. I turn and he is sitting there, in a chair, with a glass of grapefruit and gin. 

“Crowley. I have no disillusionment about my situation. I’m fucked. For eternity. I will be fucked, by you, on a daily basis, for eternity. Or until you get bored.”

“No, you’re right. Eternity. Especially after what you’ve put me through. Most would say it’s grounds for a divorce, but I miss my Chew Toy too much.” I ignore the comment about missing me, I can’t dwell on it. I’m not sure which would be worse, if it is true, or if it’s a lie.

“Crowley, what you’ve put me through is grounds for homicide.” He nods acknowledging the fact. 

“Yes, well. It’s time t-”

“Please. Just let me finish this painting?” He pauses, regarding me and my audacity, then stands and goes to look at what I am working on. 

It is red, almost abstract. Swirls of shades of red forming a storm with clouds and white snow and wind buffeting about ...nothing. I hadn’t painted it in yet. He looks at it a good minute, taking in the forms, then blinks in realization. He looks at me, incredulous.

“Really? Of all the things, in the entire world; the world you ran away from to escape its horrors… and you paint... Me?”

“You left quite an impression Mr. Crowley; and suffering… well it creates great art.” He looks at the painting for a long time. He looks at the swirling reds, cascading, pushing, pulling, moving all over the canvas from the left...where they start as a simple cloud of smoke emerging from a mouth with no face. He looks at the hints of white, some like lightning, some like wind, some like dust, some like hinting at faces lost in the fury of the storm. He looks at the chains, taught, twisted, thrown about. Appearing and disappearing through the red smoke. Weaving, moving as part of the storm, not its container. He looks at the various faint faces, one vaguely familiar, most screaming in agony.

He looks at the blurry space to the right where it waited to be finished. 

He looks for a long time. Then looks at me, and sits down in his chair that was now next to the easel, and says the kindest thing he has ever said to me. 

“You have 3 hours.”

He stands behind me, watching as I put the final touch in the bottom right hand corner. My signature.

“Very nice. You captured my eyes exactly.” I snort and shake my head, his visage was barely visible, only if you squinted, and even then it is an approximation of how I know him. We both are still, looking at the finished piece, with the white circle with blue flames of ether. Nothing maring its surface. Whole. Away from everything, but trapped and enclosed. Perfectly white with blue fringes; except at the bottom, where a single link penetrates it, and the attached chain flows away until it turns into red smoke. Me.

I nod, washing off the brushes in turpentine. 

“It’s done.”

“And you?”

“I don’t really have a choice.” I look at the open expanse for a moment more, I know what is coming.

The pain is immense but not surprising. The false body around me breaks down; I fall, I float, I am surrounded in red.

Then I’m ‘home’, imprisoned. Seeing through someone else’s eyes. And I know, from that moment, I would not paint again. Not for a long, long, time. He will never let me go. 

“Exactly darling. Now, I need to do some house work.” He looks around, and for me, does one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen. Of course, I have a bit of a skewed vision. 

With a wave, the fresh oil painting in front of him, sets. Dry to the touch, ready to transport.

It takes days, sometimes weeks, for an oil painting to dry. Heat. Dryness. Light. Nothing really affects the time it takes, but he did. 

If I had been alive then, I would have swooned. 

“Darling. I’m blushing.” He takes one more look around. The other paintings lean against the trailer. The sketches. The charcoal drawings. He looks sideways, out of the corner of his eye, half caring, and with a snap, they are gone. All except his. He pauses, and looking out over the salt flats, past my painting, at the view I had been taking in for months. 

“How boring.” How perfect for an artist. Nothing but memories to inspire. Fully able to free the emotions and put them on paper. “And you’re going to tell me about each and every one before I burn them.” He looks at his portrait. “Except this one. I like this one. After all, you didn’t just paint it, you helped make it happen.” I cringe as he snaps and it vanishes. “Right, just one more thing. I forgot to clear your room out.” It’s true, there is another there. An x-demon from one of the jars. They are numb, their soul silent and cold from solitude. I don’t find it odd, I had had company before. They would fade. 

“There’s a new tenant tomorrow, this one needs to vacate.” There's a snap, and as he walks into nothing, into his office, that cold soul beside me just...disintegrates. Instantly gone. Sucked into the red storm that I always seemed to be insulated from. I scream. Horrified. Not at the sudden absence of life but at what it meant Crowley had learned to do. What he could do. 200 contracts a year, one soul a year, ten years to vanish...none of that mattered. If he could do that...

“You have no idea what I can do now. I’ll show you soon, but today? I’ve cleared my schedule after the meeting to announce ...well that I’m back...so we can have some quality time after. I missed my resilient Chew Toy. It needs to be broken in again.” He walks the halls, uncaring of the other demons passing by. Most pause and bow, some freeze, a few whisper. None show open disrespect, not right now; not after he retaken Hell, again. 

“You know rumors spread after I got back from the fight with Castiel...Words have passed around. Immortal, soul killer, storm of red smoke… I believe it’s finally time to put them to rest...but first.” There is a ripping feeling, one I’m familiar with, as a piece of me is broken off. He holds out his hand and it drifts out. From his pocket he takes out a very fancy pocket watch… which when opened reveals a clock...as normal. I was expecting more, am expecting more. He pushes the back and the clock face pops off to reveal...a large intricate diamond covered in sigils so small I can’t read them. The crystal glows.

“Courtesy of mother. A phylactery. She’s going to be at the meeting today.” He pushes my bit of soul into the crystal and it flashes. I can feel the piece of my soul, the connection feels stronger, as if it’s next to me... “Now, let’s see if it works.” He snaps. Nothing happens. He snaps again. Nothing. 

“Artenu retrevia.” He snaps again and this time the little bit of light emerges from the crystal. Satisfied Crowley pushes the spark of my soul back in, and closes the pocket watch. Crowley grabs the final jar from the cupboard and leaves his room. 

We walk into nothing and appear in an already full courtroom. 

“Mother.” She is silent. She can’t speak. He snaps his fingers and sigils glow for a second before smoke wafts off of her. 

“Son. I suppose I finally have been let out of false Scotland because today is the day?”

“Today is the day.” He holds up the jar and looks at the gathered demons. Many are his loyal followers, many more are ones who only returned to Hell from self imposed exile because Crowley’s system failed. He looks out over the crowd.

“I believe many of you are here because you believe I failed. I did. I could not prevent the angel from cancelling the contracts. I cannot promise they won’t try again, the tablets are indestructible. The demon one is in Hell, I have a third of the angel one as well. That should help...but very few things are foolproof. What I can promise is that I will always fix it. I already did. Most of you will have noticed contracts are working again. So, time to get back to work.” There is a shuffling, as the audience stands, waiting for something more. Boy… are they going to get it. 

“Now, rumors have been circulating, once again. Once again...I will confirm them.” There are gasps, a few demons immediately turn tail towards the doors, a few try to teleport out. One succeeds before Crowley snaps his fingers and a sigil on the ceiling glows. Crowley looks to his right briefly. Three demons stand in the shadows, one with a chisel, one with paint, and one with a notepad.

“Say thank you to our architectural team. Now. Most of you don’t believe these rumors, rightly so. They are impossible.” As he talks he unscrews the lid to the jar. The soul floats lethargically in the air. “Well, mostly.” He snaps and the soul...just funnels away into the red smoke leaking lazily from his meat suit’s mouth. There is silence. For a moment.

“So? Half of us are sharing a meatsuit with a soul.” Crowley nods at the comment.

“Well, I guess you can’t really know...except.” From his pocket Crowley withdraws a familiar gold object. The hyperbolic pulse generator. He holds it up and points it at the offending demon. There is a screech and pressure rises in the room, and the smoke from the demon flies through the air. “Hold my meatsuit and egg Chew Toy.” He rushes from his body, leaving me behind in confusion as I suddenly am in control of one of Crowley’s most precious possessions. In control of a male body that should be dead, but isn’t.

I’m distracted from my confusion by the movement above. Crowley is chasing the other demon. He dwarfs him, at least 30 feet longer and 10 feet wider. Crowley soon catches up and circles him, surrounds him until he can’t be seen. The smoke thrashes and flies around the room once, twice, three times, and it’s apparent that the other demon is gone. Crowley had pulled an Amara. When the Fuck had he learned that? How? I look at Rowena, and she looks just as startled as I am. 

The red smoke barrels towards me and I brace. It’s never easy, the feather bed I once felt crushed with, is now a ten ton piece of brick. I’m shoved down, encircled, and Crowley sits up and orients himself. He looks out at the crowd and smiles.

“Questions? Comments? ...Offers for dessert?”

We head back to his room shortly after. Three more demons exterminated from reality. 

“I really never cease to be amazed by how Stupid they are sometimes. Really, attack me? After that display? I feel like a peacock that gave it his best and half the females turned out to be colorblind!” I’m silent. I don’t know how to react. If he had learned to do that to demons… What had really happened to that angel?

“Chew Toy. I’m not trying that forbidden fruit for another 100 years minimum. Probably feels like pond water with a side of acid. Now, ready for some quality time?” He waves and all of my art appears in his room, sketch upon sketch, drawings, paintings, poems, abstract doodles. Everything. Cold falls over me as I realize Crowley is making good on what I thought was a passing comment, an idle threat meant to scare. I should have known better.

That first day we go through five pieces of art and I am nearly catatonic for a week, I think a week. Time is skewed in Hell, further when you are being tortured. After that he spaces them out over a few months. I never know when we would suddenly be down in his room, playing therapist and art critic. He has me explain the story behind every piece. The emotion. The horror. The regret. Whatever the painting entailed, he drew it up and then rode my emotions to a high...and when he came down he burned it as promised. I am broken for days after each one, it was somehow worse being able to feel him experience the emotions I felt while I was creating, and see him discard the art like a syringe after. He destroyed every single one. 

Except his portrait. 

He saves it for last and doesn’t say a word as he hangs it in his room. He doesn’t need to. It is the last thing I ever painted, and it represents all the damage I caused. It is the result of my contract with Crowley, the King of Hell...but with what he had discovered from our contract...from our meetings, from my existence with him...He hadn’t been just the King of Hell for some time. No one ever said the new title to his face; it was a name to be feared, not revered his others. Perhaps someone snuck into his room and saw the plaque, perhaps he let them. After all, that was the title of my painting. Prison of the Immortal Storm. 

  



	29. The Purgatory Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a Dragon, and things get weird.

Years have passed. I don’t measure time just by dates any more, but by events. Milestones. I know 90 years ago he stormed heaven again, not to get the angel tablet, but to visit some friends. I got to fuckin meet the Winchesters, and then some. They talked for hours, Crowley apologized for Rowena, saying she had acted out of fear and grief, and that they had finally, kindof, repaired their relationship. They had no idea that she was there, secreted away in one of Crowley’s red prisons. I know that Robert Singer, go figure there are a lot of people with that name, was the most suspicious of Crowley. I know that we left heaven with most of them still up there. I know he has a date circled in 5 years to go back up. I know that every person who has wronged him, or done right by him, is on his bucket list. I know that Robert Singer is on it, with a star next to his name. I have no fucking clue what that means. I half hope that means he is replacing me with him. Half hope it doesn’t. Kinda hope I’ll have another long term roommate. Kinda hope I don’t cuz I wouldn’t wish that on anyone who didn’t want it. 

I know I haven’t seen Cas in over 80 years. 

I know that the last attempt at a coup in Hell was… 70 years ago. I know that 43 years ago was the last time Crowley had found a renegade demon safe house on earth... and that every single one of those demons no longer existed. I know that about 50 years ago Rowena had agreed to have the details of the contract removed from her very soul. Ripped out surgically and destroyed by Crowley. I know that 50 and half years ago she had been captured by angels and Crowley had gotten there just in time to see his mother tell them she’d prefer being torn apart by her own son to dealing with them. I know that he now had tea with his mother monthly. I know that no one who isn’t signing it has read the contract since, just in case. I know that the NDA on the contract is twice as complicated as my own and involves teleportation.

I know that 60 years ago he could keep 6 full souls with ease, 30 years ago he could keep 8, and now 10. I know it always takes three more than his threshold to get him super high. I know that when he did that he always put me in a jar. I know that when I went back all those souls were gone. I know that I had stopped feeling fear about such things a long time ago. I had stopped feeling fear in regards to nearly anything Crowley would do to me a while ago. Unless he actually tried I just had a low constant buzz of apprehension. Fear was boring after all, he could get fear from anyone.

I knew that 140 souls had gone to some 500...and then 1000...and then 5000. They seemed like big numbers, but they were still nothing compared to the amount in Hell, or the amount in Purgatory…I know that he has over 20 phylacteries with bits of soul hidden around the world and that those get changed every year. The live ones he has contracts with change every half a year. 

I know that for three months he’s been researching why his smoke is red, why his true form was a bit different. 

I know he’s found nothing. Neither has Rowena. 

I know the angels’ last assassination attempt was at least over two years ago. I know that he hadn’t tried to eat an angel yet, but it was on the bucket list. 

I know that three years ago he had contacted a reaper and paid them to tell him about the location of the gate from Purgatory to Hell. I know that he had tried to eat that reaper when they refused, and failed. Horrible indigestion, if you can call it that, because the reaper just ceased to exist. Just left a hole in his smoke suddenly. I know that two years ago he had finally gotten the information, from Billie, in exchange for not killing her reapers and cutting back on the souls on earth a bit. I know there was a contract. I know there have been a few date nights since then, that I have not been allowed on. 

I know a year ago he started going into Purgatory, and boy were there a lot of monsters not happy to see him. Seven months ago was when I learned that vampire souls somehow feel bloody. I know he keeps close to the exit in case a leviathan shows up. I know leviathan is on his bucket list. After angel. After alpha. I know he’s smart enough to wait a very very very long time before he tries any of them. Except Dan who is at the top of the list. 

Dan, from his hired hunters, was on the list for a very different reason. Dan he wanted to hire again, posthumously, to lure monsters closer to the entrance he used. Forever. 

I knew Dan agreed to it eight months ago, in return for the assurance that Crowley would let him use the exit to Hell whenever he wanted, just so he could stop running. He promised; no farther than the other side, and to stay near the gate to guard it when Crowley wasn’t there. 

Crowley had agreed. He also posted a Hellhound there, and two at the end of the hall. Just in case. Because no one but him went down there anymore. After all, he needed to protect his plans. Keep it quiet. It was a large plan, dangerous. If it got out he was planning on doing what Castiel had, just slower...There could be more trouble from the angels. So he was going to go slowly, and quietly.

He had gained something in the Empty, something dangerous. 

Patience.

  
  


He walks down the hallway and pats one of the Hellhounds on the head. It growls in reply, a happy growl, one I could recognize as different by its higher pitch. 

“Good boys. I’ll bring you both treats later.” He passes between them and they move back together, sitting and filling the entrance to the hallway. Dan is waiting at the end.

“Crowley. We gotta problem.”

“A problem? Leviathan?”

“No, they can’t leave through this door..” This was news.

“Explain.”

“Saw a dragon the other day. Real dragon. The first ones. It saw me, it saw the gate. I couldn’t have stopped it if I wanted to, but it didn’t give me the time a day. I managed to get up the courage to ask why. Didn’t even know if that thing could talk… It could fucking talk. Said she had no interest, and nothing but what was once human, or what don’t belong there, can fit. Well, and reapers.”

“I’d say that’s good news. So what’s the problem?”

“Vampire found it… one by tha name a… Bernard LeBlanc...but you’d probably know him by-”

“Benjamin Lafitte… Bollocks.” Crowley looks at the red stone floor and thinks for a second. “So, what’s the fanger want? Out? To not be on the menu?”

“No. For you to stop.” At this Crowley narrows his eyes. I had a theory, but it needed to be confirmed.

“Why?”

“Because you’re takin away all the things he fights. If there is nothing left to fight…”

“He could fight the dragon.”

“Crowley...Leviathans and the old dragons fight, to stalemates. They are fucking huge. Ain’t no one fighting a dragon but a leviathan.” Crowley frowns. The heart wasn’t that big.

“How big are they?”

“Depends on how old they are. Dragon’s don’t stop growing.” 

“So depending on the when they died I-”

“No. Crowley. The dragons didn’t go extinct, they left. They moved to Purgatory. They ain’t dead. Why do you think the leviathans fight them? They still made of real meat.” Dan points at the door. “That, wouldn't a fit the claw a’ the one I talked to. Only reason I could talk to it was cuz it changed shape.” Crowley stares. This was a lot of information that he didn’t know. Things that weren’t recorded anywhere. Things people didn’t talk about. I was elated. My theory from when I was fucking 10 was right, well for dragons. It wasn’t that there weren’t big monsters, it’s that they left. And they were the best dragons. They were fucking D&D dragons. I can feel Crowley pause, and then pull all the information I knew about dragons out of me.

It was a lot of information. I was kinda obsessed when I was a kid….and a teen...and when I was an adult...and now. Dragons were fucking awesome. I wondered if the ones here resembled the Japanese or European d- 

Crowley cuts me off with a jolt of pain. This was not the main point. Benny, aka Bernard, was indeed a problem. I’d say why not let him into Hell, but it sounded like he enjoyed it in Purgatory… or at least the lack of bloodlust. At this Crowley cocks his head slowly and then nods. 

“Take me to him.”

“What?”

“Take me to Bernard. And go find that dragon. I have deals to make.”

  
  


Bernard looks similar to Benny. Dirty coat, mid build, beard, slight accent. He was however African American and had shorter hair.

“Crowley ah presume?”

“Bernard. Nice to meet you. It appears we have a problem.” Bernard approaches and Crowley holds up a finger. “Ah ah, let’s keep this civil, and distant.”

“Fine by me. You ahr here so ah assume you ahr not tah enthused with my proposition.”

“Not really. You see, you’re quite happy being here, fighting, not being hungry, running around. I am quite the opposite.”

“Ah can see that. Nice suit.”

“Yes, it is. And I don’t like to get it dirty. “ That is true. Crowley could fight with the best, but he didn’t like doing it all the time, and he liked to design the arena himself before going in the ring. And that ring usually wasn’t a big forest. “So. What can I give you to make this situation ok?”

“Yah mean besides one a us dyin? Ah don’t really see much. Yah see, that’s what Ahm here ta do.” Bernard circles Crowley, staying the same distance, but definitely preparing an attack. Crowley doesn’t follow him, just stands still. 

“Really? You… do know What I’ve been doing to the souls here?”

“Yeah, ah do, got it outta Dan there with a bit of...persuasion. And Ah win either way. One way, Ah get to fight forever; other, Ah get tah rest. Both sound good tah me.”

“So, what you really are, is suicidal.”

“Can’t be suicidal when yah are already dead.”

“I beg to differ. So. Out of respect for one Dean Winchester, I will give you a chance to leave, and a promise that I will always leave at least 10,000 souls here for you to fight with.” Bernard pauses.

“That seems like an awful lot for you tah let go.”

“Well, even demons get heartburn occasionally.” That wasn’t the reason at all, until he himself could take on a leviathan, if ever, he needed them distracted; not here, near his door waiting for him. Also, the amount of souls here would take eons to consume, he hadn’t made a dent, not with the 5,000 he had taken. 10,000… that was nothing in the long run, not with the 40 plus million here. And if he didn’t want to be noticed, he needed to go slow. So, he had set a limit, 100,000 maximum a year. That was still 400 years. Well, if he needed to wait, perhaps there would be a tipping point and he actually would be able to fight a leviathan. He doubted it, but it was a fun thought. He had a bit of a grudge against their leader. ...And a few others down here.

Again, the fact that he had gained patience, far more dangerous in my opinion than any weapon. 

“So, deal?” Bernard circles.

“Does Dean know you ahr doing this?”

“Dean died a very long time ago. It’s been years upon years Bernard.”

“By your hand?”

“By my actual hands? No.”

“But you had some working in it.”

“I have my hands in enough pies to open a bakery.”

“You know what my answer is.” Crowley rolls his eyes and readies himself as footsteps come closer. “Turn ahnd face me so-” 

The conversation is interrupted by gale force winds. Three trees break and one falls feet from Crowley. I would have flinched but Crowley just looks up.

A shadow, slightly red, looms above, filling the sky. It comes closer and pressure fills the air as instead of getting bigger...it shrinks. Crowley looks on, confused and intrigued. 

“Fuck me.” The sound of Bernard’s voice is faint under the wind, but still audible. 

“It might.”

“I WILL NOT.” The dragon lands, Dan on its shoulder. It fills the clearing and the ground shakes as it lands. The shimmer of magic is still upon it as it shrinks further so as not to break any more trees. It’s still gargantuan. The voice is loud. Not because it is yelling, but because it is just that big. It’s European. Not as in from Europe, but that kind of dragon. Four legs, wings, long neck. And scales. Beautiful scales that even in the gray of Purgatory seem to shine red. 

“NOT ONLY AM I UNINTERESTED, I BELIEVE THE YOUNG VAMPIRE IS MORE AFRAID THAN SEXUALLY AROUSED.” Everyone winces. The dragon blinks, it’s eyes amber and glowing constantly, slitted pupils the size of Crowley. It shakes Dan off and he lands with a roll, but in one piece. “Apologies. It Is Hard To Speak To Something So Small in this Size.” Dan backs up, facing the dragon, and returns to Crowley. The dragon continues to shrink.

“Beautiful, ain’t she.” Crowley blinks.

“She?! That’s a female? How much bigger was she when you were flying?”

“Females Are Often Bigger Than Males In Many Species. … As for size...I believe you would say I rival the bridge of golden gates.” Crowley blinks.

“How... long ago did you come here?”

“After the witches created their own poor imitations of Lilith’s kin. Now, I believe you wished to speak to me, little demon.”

“Yes, but-” I was also curious as to how she knew of the Golden Gate Bridge.

“Little demon, calm. Talk to me. Entertain me. Before I grow bored.” The dragon crosses her forearms and lays them across one of the fallen tree trunks. She is still the size of a large house. “And talk as you would to a friend. I despise all posturing. It grew weary after 1000 years.” She pauses and looks at the vampire who is sneaking away. “Young vampire. Return. You shall tell me stories after this one is done. You look like you have much to tell.” Crowley blinks. Stories. 

“As do I.” The dragon shifts her gaze from Bernard back to Crowley as he speaks. 

“Very well, but I am a dragon…” She looks at the fleeing vampire and blinks. Bernard flies through the air back to the clearing and falls in a pile of limbs. “I am greedy by nature.”

“Naturally.” She shifts her bulk and settles a bit more before looking at the three monsters.

“Vampire, wolf. Sit, enjoy the spectacle of this discussion, and we will talk next.” Both monsters nod and sit, not sure they are interested in this spectacle, but definitely not interested in being squashed. She returns her attention to Crowley. 

“So, little demon, I suppose you want to make a deal?”

“You are quick on the uptake, this should go very smoothly.” Crowley opens his coat and removes a contract. 

The dragon laughs.

“I will have none of your contracts. I have neither the will nor the want to read such treacherous words again.” Crowley pauses, cautious.

“Again. You’ve signed one before?” The laughter once again fills the clearing.

“Little demon, you fancy yourself King of Hell, King of the Crossroads, the best contract maker.” She leans down and her teeth shine, the size of legs and arms. “Why do you think Dragons are synonymous with the devil in so much Christian lore? Hmm? It is not because of the serpent, serpents are mere echoes of us. The saurians were as infinately dumb children. No little demon.” Crowley nods and waits, happy to be gaining information, seemingly for free. This dragon either has loose lips, or really does not fear much.

“Please. Enlighten me.”

“Little demon, where do you think the first contracts came from? Lucifer had no interest. Pure temptation was easy enough in such an early era and he had no intention of doing leg work for such puny little specks of a reward whose only value was in their destruction.” The dragon laughs and the ground shakes with the intensity of it this time. “As if he could walk around! Poor little archangel with his bound feet and clipped wings.” At this Crowley raises a brow.

“You don’t...fear him?”

“Why should I? He is dead. But, I digress from the point with my amusement. Again, I ask you, where did the first contract come from?” 

“Given who is asking, I am assuming I am talking to her.”

“Very good little demon.” ….What.

“Well, I must say it’s an honor, I’d love to show you the changes and strides I’ve made with your work, but I believe you are completely-”

“Disinterested.” The dragon interrupts with a yawn before continuing. “I wrote the original loophole in one of the first contracts; after that, it was easy. I stop when things become easy...or boring. So, speak plainly little demon, of your wants and desires of me, or I will grow bored.” 

Holy shit. I knew this type of dragon. This was awesome. She was fucking awesome. Crowley nods a couple times, thinking, or pretending to think. He knew what he wanted.

“A deal. Obviously. I want to come here and…”

“Hunt, you wish to hunt little demon. But that is a means to an end. You have goals. What are they? Once I understand you, then we may talk of deals.” Now That, was a fucking question for the ages.

“I suppose ‘to crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women’ won’t do?” The dragon smiles.

“No little demon, it will not. I am in Purgatory, not under a rock. Do not come bearing bastardizations of quotes to me.”

“Well power is always a nice thing.”

“Yes, but to do what with, little demon?” I liked this dragon. Crowley did too, just not the questions she was asking. This was a ‘what is your purpose’ type of question. Deep quanderings that speared the soul, or what was left of it, with their openness and possibility. Crowley didn’t like to think about this much. There was always a next step, something to work toward, something to enjoy. If he actually succeeded, however unlikely that was, what would he do? On this question, he actually has to think for a moment. He is humbled before this being. Not because it is powerful, no, that wasn’t humbling, but because it understood what questions to ask. Because it could play ‘the game’ just as well, if not better, than Crowley. 

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. 

“I’d like to do my job, do it well, and then go home; maybe take a blood bath, have a drink, torture some souls. Same as any other average Joe, I’d really like to be able to enjoy my job and a glass of scotch without worrying about being murdered.”

The laughter booms and shakes the clearing again. Bernard, who has been quiet and still, falls over. 

“Fuck!”

“You’re fine. You’re dead.” Says Crowley, annoyed at the blunt interruption that broke the ambience.

“Little demon, Crowley, what you wish for is security. True security does not happen. Not for gods, not for ants. And yet many yearn for it. The unattainable. But nothing is impossible, so I find it a worthy quest. To attain the unattainable.”

“So you will help me?”

“Yes. After you prove yourself to me. It is a cliche requirement I find amusing. But first...What do you offer for my assistance?”

“Stories. As many as you want. The ones you can’t get from the crazed denizens here.” The dragon looks at Crowley, tilts its head, and nods.

“Very well. I however, shall be the master of this deal. Its terms are mine.”

“And what exactly are its terms?”

“While you are in Purgatory, and only while you are in Purgatory, you shall have rental of my soul.” Crowley blinks. One soul was not what he was hoping to get out of this.

“That...does not quite seem an even trade. One soul for an eternity of stories?”

“Little demon, have you ever seen a dragon soul?”

“A soul is a soul.”

“Incorrect. Dragons should not be a match for a leviathan, we are lesser, smaller than them in their true forms when they wish to be big, and yet, we prevail. We were an experiment by the Creator. Our souls are connected to… the realms’.”

“Excuse me?” Amusement glitters in the dragon’s eyes as she talks to the King of Hell as if he is a young child at a school lesson.

“Magic, little demon, comes from somewhere. We are connected to it. Why do you think witches require words, and I do not? We require the power that flows through ley lines, dimensions, the vibrating strings of reality, we require that to live. Food, sustenance, it helps strengthen our bodies, speed our growth when we are young, but we can live without it. Without magic, we would cease in an instant. With it… we rival worlds.”

“Then….why come here? When you could reshape the world?” She rumbles in pleasure as his curiosity, and the continued chance to tell her own story.

“It grew crowded, we would have disrupted the human’s development, and we were as eager as the Creator to see where it went. So, we left. We can watch it from wherever we are. However, it is not the same as holding, feeling the stories. I would like to hold a book in my claws again. Or an apple. Bring me stories, things, to experience. You understand, little demon, boredom and the pain it causes. So, I will loan you my soul, and with it and the others you collect, you will devour nations...and when you have cleaned your plate of those you will destroy the leviathans so I may read in peace until you rival me. Do we have an accord?” 

Crowley blinks. This was going surprisingly well. I liked this dragon. I could already tell and guess at her experience with demons. Teaching, laughing. I could even make a leap in my mind to the connection of red dragon to red smoke. Perhaps she had a claw in that. Oh, with a connection to leylines… my mind soars with possibilities. Crowley just ponders the oddness of having an ally whose interests don’t overlap with his. He ponders for a good moment before nodding. 

“We do.”

“Very good. Now, I believe you would call these… points of interest and stipulations. I have a few.”

“Please.”

“While you are here, you shall remove your companion from yourself if you wish her to survive.” What? How did she know I was here? Why would she want me out? “I have not put my soul next to another’s. You may try this, and it may destroy you if I do not word this deal between us correctly, turn you into the energy that makes the world run. It may also destroy a mortal, if such a thing is possible. If it is not, she will surely go mad. So, to keep me company while you hunt, and to keep your ‘Chew Toy’ safe, she will stay with my body until you are able to protect her from my soul. And if you tire of her, she shall be mine until you wish for her again.” What...why? h-How? Crowley feels similar confusion.

“Why would you want her soul? What is it to you?”

“I have felt her since we started talking. She has paid rapt attention to my every word with adoration and spun stories from what she has learned already. She seems a good story teller. And I like stories as much as I like being adored. So, while you are here and you do not need her, she is mine. And if you bore of her, she is mine.”

“I can agree to the first part, but the second...may be a problem. We have a contract.”

“So? That matters not for what I want.”

“Yes, but if I want to end the contract...”

“You mean eat her. Be blunt here little demon. It amuses me how uncomfortable it makes you.” Crowley blinks, surprised and a little affronted.

“Eat her...then that would violate our agreement.”

“Would it? I find eating someone to be very interesting, not boring in the least. So, would you have bored of her at that point?” I could laugh, cry, whatever. She had spotted the loophole before Crowley. She was right, if he killed me before he bored of me, I was still his. “I wrote the first loophole little demon, so while I appreciate your attempt to make sure we have as honest a deal as a deal between a demon and a dragon can be, I do not need your help. You need mine.” Crowley agrees.

“Very well. Any other… points of interest?”

“You shall hunt monthly, and bring 100 books and 10 objects for me to interact with each time. If you ever clear this plane of food, you shall still bring me books monthly until there are none left, which, with the amount humans create, is not possible as long as the world keeps turning. To which end, you shall do your best to ensure their world is safe, so it continues to create and blossom. You should leave some monsters out there to procreate and send new souls here, but that is of little matter. Hmmmm. In fact for your friend here, and my amusement, you shall in fact stick to the deal of leaving 10,000 souls of witches’ bastard monsters and Lilith’s spawn; if you gain a taste for such fare. I find them chewy.” Crowley listens, taking in every word and turning it into the form a contract would take. I am listening to the timber of her voice and the amount of thought that has gone into this in mere seconds. Her thoughts meander and twist upon themselves, and so does what she says. It is occasionally hard to follow, and dense. It is fascinating to listen to. 

“Should you run out of stories on this plane at any time, I will send you to the faelands to collect stories there. You will not hunt there little demon; it is a land governed by different laws, and every fae there will know the instant you take a soul. Which will mean you could no longer collect stories for me. Now, most importantly, if you ever attempt to take the soul of one of my kin… You are versed in torture, so let me just say that not only will the contract be, how you say null and void, but you will be too.” 

“That seems fair.”

“Oh, it isn’t. You do not know what I can do, little demon, and you do not wish to. Now, your favorite part is over, it is time for you to prove yourself to me.” Crowley sighs inwardly. Of course it wouldn’t be easy. 

“What do you want? One thousand books? Story tellers? Perhaps a live human to play with?” The dragon yawns and lays her head down. 

“Those are things you shall be bringing me should you succeed. You shall tell me stories yourself, you have quite a few, and despite how you posture and pretend the persona you put on when your body was alive was just that, a persona; you love stories as much as I. You just enjoy creating them as much as consuming them, while I just consume, and occasionally add a plot point. No little demon, do not provide me with what you have already agreed to give. Bring me... a feather from the angel Castiel, the last living leviathan, alive, and...a pizza.” 

“....Bollocks.”


	30. The Angel's Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a deal, another fight, and uncomfortable self examination.

Well, this would be interesting. The pizza would be simple enough. The leviathan… could be done. Maybe. Probably, near impossible. Castiel...might be doable. His wings were broken, but there were some feathers left. Each would be cherished. This would be a big ask. 

We stand on the blacktop of an empty damp parking lot. Cold grey is all around. Empty buildings. Clouds. The one broken down car. All grey. The only color is Castiel’s clothing and Crowley’s red eyes. 

“I’m willing to give you 1000 souls Castiel, In exchange for a feather.”

“Why?”

“It’s a present.”

“You don’t give presents Crowley, you’re getting something from it. What?”

“I’ll be using it to tickle someone’s private bits next Tuesday. What do you care?”

“Because it’s my feather. What are you getting for it?”

“1000 souls Castiel. C’mon. Don’t you trust your old-”

“No, and you offered me over ten times that once.”

“Can you really afford to say no? When you know every soul you don’t have is one that Might go into my lunchbox?”

“No Crowley.” Offer him something else. ...like getting rid of the last leviathan. Crowley pauses. There was a lot of subtext in that. Like using him in the quest. And if he died...

“Good idear Chew Toy. 5,000 souls, and I will help you capture the last leviathan.”

“They are all dead.”

“I have it on good authority there is one left. So, kiss, or shake on it? I know which I’d prefer.” Castiel pauses, face blank.

“I want an hour with your pet. Unsupervised” At this Crowley and I are both confused. 

“Growley? Why-“

“Your Chew Toy.” Fuck. No. I don’t want to be tortured again. Or questioned. About the contract or my motives or my fucking sanity. I lost that ages ago. I had to have. Just offer more souls Crowley. Fucking Hell. 

Crowley looks at Castiel, his jaw tight and eyes hard. 

“No. 10,590 souls.”

“An hour. Unsupervised.”

“Two hours. Supervised.”

“An hour, unsupervised.”

“20,000-“ Crowley the more you offer at this point just shows how much he should want to talk to me. I am literally your strength and your weakness. Besides. If I break the NDA, and the hour ends…

Crowley looks at Castiel and pauses. 

“One moment.” We are gone. Hell, so no prying angelic eyes. The halls are as red as always as we stand in his room, looking at his portrait. 

“The contract will be broken and I’ll know…” Fucking besides the point. You’ll have me, without my side of the contract to protect me. What fun. 

“I don’t want you on the rack, or in the line. Everything else I already have. What I want, is an angel feather.” Why not just take it? “I don’t really want to attack god's, the Winchester’s, and half of heaven's favorite winged doll, just in case.” Fine. A point. Fine. ...new deal between you and me. Give me over. Half an hour unsupervised. I won’t or can’t tell him anything about the contract or Purgatory or Dragoness, and you don’t torture, fuck, kill/almost kill, in anything but self defense, without my permission, while wearing my soul. “No. I like wearing you too much. I can wait.” Fuck. He was right. Unless he wanted the leviathans. I had a feeling he’d need the dragon for that. All three of us are in a stalemate. 

“How about I let you out to do art for one week a year.” Oh. Oh fuck. Yeah. Yeah I wanted that. But...every year?

“No.” Ehhh, that’s more for you then. To let me out and then take it away? No. How about when I’m with the dragon? “That is her prerogative. If she asks me to provide paint, I’ll provide paint.” Ok. Fine. Uhm. Fine, simplified version of my offer. No wearing me for torture. Use someone else. 

There is silence and a cruel feeling fills me and the 10 other souls. I know they are there, even though I can only feel one. I don't know how the souls in the fishtank stand it. More than two or three just start to hurt. Perhaps because they can move and choose and put space between them. Or they were just in pain all the time. I mull this over while I wait for a response... Though I have a feeling I know what it is. After all, he can torture me in other ways. Putting a limit on how he could means he’ll just have to get more creative…and limits are what allow creativity to blossom.

“Deal.” And we are back in front of Castiel. He has been waiting, he hasn’t moved a centimeter. “Chew Toy has agreed to meet with you for half an hour, unsupervised, as long as there is no torture on your part.” Thanks. “Chew Toy, I don’t share my toys.” I mean, who would want a Chew Toy covered in your drool anyway? “A bit more than drool at this point darling. Now. 5,000 souls, a half hour with Chew Toy unsupervised, help capturing the last leviathan, in exchange for a single feather off your wing. Deal?” Castiel looks at Crowley. He pauses, mulling it over.

“I accept these terms.”

“Great. I’ll just leave you alone with your rented toy. Take care of it.” Crowley pushes me into his body, rips off another piece of me, just for fun, and then rushes out. A full five seconds pass before he’s out and flying away...somewhere. I watch him go, trying to figure out what he took. 

It had taken a while for me to realize that’s what happened when he ripped me apart. I hadn’t really thought about it when I was alive. I always blamed it on getting older, or stress. How I wouldn’t like the taste of broccoli one week, or couldn’t really remember any of my character’s names for two years, or for how 16 years my OCD didn’t bother me. It was only after he pulled memories from Rowena that I realized. He had known for a while. Realized that he could take certain bits. 

Taking specific memories or parts of a person’s soul took practice, and time. As in days getting to know a soul. And he experimented with that for months. He finally came to the most interesting question. We weren’t sure what taking the contract from a soul would do. It seemed that was the one part that didn’t like leaving randomly when he picked a soul apart. It was also always the last part to go when he...completely obliterated a soul.

He had tried to take it from someone, the part of the soul that held the contract, to see what would happen. The remainder of the soul started to float away...free, and the part containing the contract started to turn red immediately. He put that bit back right quick. 

Otherwise...He didn’t really care, he couldn’t pick apart pure human souls unless he had a contract with them. He couldn’t really use it to torture, you couldn’t miss what you didn’t remember you had. For instance, I knew I had parents at one point, a husband, I just couldn’t remember. That’s what he had taken right now. It didn’t bother me, it just made me sad that I never knew them. Didn’t know them. Forgot them. That he had taken them for a bit. It was hard to organize that in your head when a piece of you and your past was missing. 

So I stand, in a body I don’t own, and speak, in a voice not my own, to an angel who probably hates me. 

“Hey Castiel.”

“What is your name?”

“Chew Toy.”

“No. What was it that you were called before that.” I pause. I actually have to think for a moment before I remember. 

“Uhm….Becca. Rebecca.”

“A biblical name.”

“Ironically, yes.”

The wind hits us in a gust and both our coats are pushed with its weight. Crowley’s coat. I sigh. I hate this. I hadn’t moved a body in decades. It felt natural and unnatural at the same time, especially when I was the only one in it. It felt empty, large. Cas is looking at me curiously, without hate, but pity. 

“Don’t give me your pity Cas. I’ve dug my own grave here. I have an ok existence considering what I’ve done. I’ve gotten to see some pretty awesome stuff too.”

“No soul deserves such a fate.”

“Cas, no one deserves anything. We make our own choices, and other people make theirs. The interactions between those choices are what we call chaos. Life.”

“And what did you do, that you deserve to be tortured for eternity?” I smile sadly, because after all this time with Crowley, I can finally accept that I feel pride amidst all the chaos of my feelings about what I’ve done. 

“I came up with the first part of the contract that caused this. And no. I won’t tell you what that is or how it works. It won’t matter soon, it might not matter now, but Crowley doesn’t take chances, not anymore.”

“He does not take chances with what?”

“Anything he doesn’t have to or that isn’t amusing.”

“Amusing?”

“How are you not bored Cas? After eons?”

“It does get boring.”

“But you don’t care.”

“No.”

“Then it isn’t boring. Boring is when you can’t take the monotony because it leaves you empty, unfulfilled, and alone with thoughts you’d rather not think.” 

The rain has gotten a bit harder and the wind blows it into the eyes I’m currently using. I cringe. I don’t like being in this body. Not one I knew from when I was alive. Not one...that Crowley controlled. Not one where I knew each spot that had been covered in blood. Which was every spot. Not one I had seen and felt do...things with knives I hadn’t really thought possible. And a spoon once. The spoon was the worst. 

I look around and spot a bench. 

“Can we sit Cas? This feels like a standoff. It isn’t. Let me tell you about his plans.” Cas nods and we walk to the bench, wind and rain at our backs, pushing us as if it wants us to talk. 

We sit, Cas stiffly, and I far more relaxed than Crowley ever is, though not by much. 

“Cas. Do you know what Crowley wants?”

“To destroy souls.”

“What? No. That’s a byproduct. And don’t pity them when we don’t know if they even exist or feel... Be sad that they can’t tell their stories anymore…” Crowley maybe could. If he had a want to he could be the greatest storyteller ever, he will probably get that itch again someday… I pause with a thought. I wonder if he told and consumed stories because it was the closest he could get to feeling without injecting himself with blood… I mean, that’s why humans tell stories too, to feel and experience things they don’t normally get to, and then to share those experiences. I sigh. “Don’t pity them. Don’t pity me. And don’t fear for the world from Crowley. He doesn’t want it.”

“What does he want?” I chuckle. The fact that I knew this, that I knew the King of Hell wanted the same thing as everyone else, was still insane to me.

“What everyone fucking wants. To do his job, be recognized for his efforts, and have fun. And he wants to do that safely until he gets bored.” Some of that fun happened to be getting high from the emotions and energy of the souls he carried...still. Fun. Yay. “What do you want Cas? Do you even know anymore?” Castiel is silent. “You want the same thing, you just don’t quite know what your job is. It used to be stopping Crowley and other evils, but Crowley isn’t an apocalypse.”

“But the souls he tempts-“

“Get tempted. I admit he is a good salesman, the best, but the souls that get tempted go to Hell, do you want every soul in heaven?”

“Yes.”

“I feel like that’s a bad idea somehow. There are some really bad people Cas...Do they deserve heaven?”

“....”

“I don’t know either. Eternity seems pretty long, for heaven or Hell. But on Earth...So some souls that should go to heaven go to Hell because they get tempted, some go to heaven when they shouldn’t too. I’m only human and we are bringing up questions of morality that I can only see as shades of grey. These questions are ones philosophers have pondered on for centuries; I may be old, but I still have no answers. These questions hurt because whatever I say will be wrong to someone. I only know I don’t belong up there. Not anymore.”

“Do you regret what you’ve done?”

“I have no fucking idea. God this sounds weird in his voice.”

“What do you mean by you have no idea?”

“Cas. You were human for a bit. The emotions were confusing right? Yeah. Well, I’ve been sitting next to other souls and a demon for decades. I’m not exactly ‘all right.’ Do I still feel sick at some of the things he does? Yeah. Do I feel bad that I have a part in making this happen? Fuck yes. Do I know that if I hadn’t I wouldn’t have gotten to see heaven And Hell and monsters and angels and more? Yes. Do I feel pride in knowing something I designed works well? Yes. Do I feel sorrow that it’s caused trouble? Yes. Do half those things contradict and shouldn’t be able to be felt together? Also yes. It’s not simple Cas. It never has been. It never will be. There may be absolutes, but everything in between, where life happens, is messy.”

“You talk a lot for a person who did not want to talk to me a few years ago.” 

“Cas, that was decades ago. I don’t even resent you for that anymore. I barely did then. Shit changes. Now. I’m not gonna tell you how stuff works, but I can tell you that Crowley isn’t gonna stop what he is doing. What he is doing though, isn't a danger to the greater balance of the universe. All you’ll have at the end is a demon who can, and will, shove anything that has the potential to mess up the world so far up its own ass it’ll taste what it ate three days ago.”

“That is a particularly disturbing image. And why would he want to protect the world?”

“Because that’s where he does his sales work and that’s where he has fun. Running it or destroying it would kinda make it hard to do either.”

Cas sits in silence. 

“So he wants to get rid of all threats to his power.”

“Doesn’t everyone in a seat of power want that?”

“No.”

“Yes. Unless they no longer want to be in power.”

“How long until his plans come to fruition? A year? Two?” I smile. Not even close. 

“Not gonna say anything about that except it doesn’t matter.”

“Why?”

“I told you. He doesn’t want earth and he doesn’t want Heaven. He doesn’t want to take every soul on earth into Hell, he doesn’t want it to be easy. He just wants to do his job. He wants to be the devil people think the devil should be. And he wants to do it well. Cas, I’m. I’m tired. I don’t want to talk about the theological ramifications of my actions. It makes me hurt and depressed and I don’t want Crowley to come back and get to enjoy and use those emotions. And don’t ask me to betray my contract. I can’t. I’ve been with him so long that it hurts to think about. In many ways that I don’t want to examine. Please don’t make me. Please don’t ask me to look at my morality after I’ve been sitting next to the King of Hell for decades upon decades. I don’t like being alone in a body like this. Alone with my thoughts. I’m used to being next to at least one other and it feels cold here. I-“

“You are rambling.”

“Yeah. It’s what I do when I have answers to questions that I don't want to think about.”

“... I believe that would just be a question.”

“Sure Cas. Kill the poetry. Thanks. Now. What do you want to know?” He doesn’t respond, so we sit in silence. We are two minds in statues that we didn’t build listening to the rain hit the overhang, the blacktop, the concrete. The wind comes in gusts sending waves of water winding through the now torrential drops. I watch them as they move like snakes in the air and on the blacktop, invisible outlines forcing drops of water to hit the ground in a pattern just different enough from their brothers to stand out from the crowd. 

There are few cars here. In all the while we have been talking one, maybe two have gone by. Their sound is muted and watery, but the bits of broken street are amplified by their wetness. The way gravel always seems louder when wet. 

There are no people. It’s Wednesday I believe. Everyone is at work. We are in a poor neighborhood, no one could afford not to be at work. It saddens me, that after all the horrors and wonders I have seen something as simple as a representation of time and labor still determined a human’s value in society. Not what they could do, but how they were compensated for it. 

There are birds. There are almost always birds. They are silent however, perhaps commiserating in the misery of the one nearby who can no longer fly. I wonder if his wings will heal… 

“What do you want?” I’m woken up from my self imposed dream by Cas. I look at him, not having really grasped the question. 

“Hmm?”

“What do you want? Do you wish to be in heaven? Away from Crowley?”

“Oh fuck no I don’t want to be alone for the rest of eternity. I can manage never seeing another person, not interacting with them, but not being able to see someone else enjoy what I create? That’s Hell for me.” There is a moment of silence and I sigh. “I don’t know the answer to that second question, and I don’t want to think about the fact that I don’t know the answer because that scares me... and even if I did it doesn’t matter because I can’t. It’s an impossibility.”

We sit quietly again, the rain slowly breaking in the distance like a curtain. There is no rainbow. Just light; shining distant light, untouchable in its perfection. It is getting closer as it reaches through the clouds. Tickling its edges with the fading front of heat or cold that is moving the storm. However despite its changing distance it seems too big to feel close. 

I love clouds. I’ve always loved clouds. I’ve always thought that if I could only choose three things to look at for the rest of eternity it would be clouds, trees, and the third wouldn’t matter. It’s an odd thing to think about, but it’s a thought I’ve had. I have a love hate relationship with both those things. I love to look at them, but dear god are they a bitch to draw. For completely opposite reasons too. Whenever I draw a cloud it doesn’t look like a cloud because clouds often don’t look like clouds. Trees almost always look like trees, but clouds…. trees have a pattern, they may break it to start a new pattern, but it’s a pattern. They have rules. They are just so big and tiny at the same time that they often seem to have no symmetry. Symmetry the human brain craves and until you can manage to break the symmetry of the branches,seen by one angle and then keep the symmetry and rules in the leaves...trees man. Trees and clouds. I love trees and clouds.

Crowley took me to see the oldest tree once. It was beautiful. I don’t know how he knew which one it was, but hey, who cares. He could have lied. It didn’t matter, they were all beautiful. Sure I had met things older, but they were alien, not on earth. That something tangible had survived being beaten and torn into by existence for that long...He let my awe wash over him like a wave, an emotion he didn’t feel often. Awe. He was rarely in awe of anything. Dragoness may have changed that. 

“Cas. Besides god what inspires you with awe?”

“Humans.”

“Besides them. Yes we adapt and survive and create. The hugeness of that is something beyond my comprehension, I feel the edges of it sometimes and I get chills. Besides humans and god,...and bugs, what fills you with awe?”

“Grass.” 

“Ooh. Why?”

“The number of ways the blades intersect to make patterns is fascinating.”

“Feels nice on bare feet too.”

“I have not tried that.”

“You should. I-“ I see a flash of red in the distance and sigh. This had been nice while it lasted, but this isn’t a body I want to be in. It felt alien, not because of sex or age, but because I knew the being who called it home too closely to use it comfortably. Like a car you had borrowed with a very tentative permission from your friend. ‘Just to the store and back. I can’t come with, so be careful.’ This isn’t mine, and it feels empty. 

“Bye Cas. Stay wary, but don’t worry about an apocalypse on earth or a hostile takeover of Heaven from Crowley. Just focus on yourself, and step in some grass for me.”

The red smoke slams down his throat to home, pushing me down and out of control, back into my prison. I miss the immediate smell and sensation of rain already. I could feel it, but everything is dulled through Crowley. I’m not sure if it is just the fact that I am feeling second hand...or that he is a demon. I have a suspicion it is both. How could a human soul survive the torture to become a demon and not go numb in some way? So of course he is addicted to experiencing things through other souls, through blood, through me. Everything but the strongest emotions he felt himself were numbed. He settles in and looks at Cas.

“Hello Castiel. Have a good time with a second hand Chew Toy? Did she squeak as loudly for you as she does for me?” Oh brother. Tone it down with the word play. He either doesn’t get it, or won’t respond. Unless it’s for your own amusement Crowley, in which case, you can do better. 

I finish the thought and Crowley is pulling me apart quickly going over everything said, making sure I hadn’t revealed anything I shouldn’t have. I hadn’t. To my knowledge. 

The process hurts a bit, but it is quick now after decades of practice. At the end he nods, satisfied, and the light pain stops. 

“We talked about grass, and your disinterest in world domination.”

“Interesting. Shall we? While you were chatting I went and checked the location of the leviathan. He is in a morgue near the Palestinian border.” 

“Why?”

“War, lots of injured who won’t be missed. How the mighty have fallen.”

“I thought the leviathan was in Palestine, not Hell?” Oh. Oh Cas no. Crowley ignores him. 

“So, beheading? Borax? Ghost?”

“You said you would assist me. I assumed you had a plan prepared.”

“I do. I go up and scare them, shoot them with borax; you behead them from behind. Then I gift wrap the head with a big red bow and you call me Santa. Care to sit on my lap?” 

“You’re going to scare them?”

“I have a plan. Trust me.”

“No.”

“Fine. Ready? Got your blade? Good. I’ll drive.” Crowley snaps and we are standing outside a building in a rocky area. The building is next to a small rock face, nestled against it as if the rock would provide extra protection. Perhaps it would, perhaps it wouldn’t. We can see the slight twinkle of barbed wire on the edges of our periphery, another attempt at protection that wouldn’t really do anything against any prepared army.

Right in front of us are soldiers with guns. They tense as two people walk out from behind a building. 

“Gents? Give me a moment in the morgue.” They relax when they see Crowley. They saw him not a month ago after all.

“Crowley…”

“It’s a war. What did you expect? That I not have deals here?” I mean, duh. He was working both sides of course. He had met with both generals on the same day once. He walks into the morgue with Cas on his heels, his new complexion and outfit drawing some looks. As we walk Crowley once again starts the ‘shower curtain’ strategy.

The door opens with a wave and Crowley steps inside. 

“I’ll pop in around the back, you come in this side. I’ll keep his attention.” And Crowley vanishes. 

We stand in the morgue and wait for the attendant to look up. He does not. He is busy with a meal. The white tile walls are shining and pristine, giving more contrast to the red splattered on the ground around the dead body. Crunching sounds echo. 

“Lester.” The face looks up, bloody, eyeless, noseless. All mouth, except the head inside that is quickly disappearing down a throat. 

The face returns to normal and swallows. Crowley snaps and the blood is gone and I get a look at who this leviathan has chosen to be. His face is old, gray hair and deep wrinkles. He is short, unassuming, completely harmless looking. 

Except his smile, which does not belong on that face. 

“Crowley. To what do I owe this displeasure? Is our agreement not to your favor anymore? I don’t eat people you have contracts with, or you, and you keep supplying me with wars?”

“Darling, I don’t supply wars, I just bring you there.”

“Whatever. What’s the problem? If there isn’t one, get out of my face you insignif-“

“Got a better offer.” Lester straightens and turns to Crowley. 

“Really?” Crowley snaps and a gun appears in his hand. Lester laughs, the sound covering the slight hint of an opening door. Crowley smiles. 

“Really.” And he shoots the very expensive replica...water pistol. 

Lester screams and thrashes as the borax water solution hits his skin. He turns to hide his face from the offending liquid and sees Cas stepping toward him. He ducks just as the blade swings for his head. Cas goes to swing again and Lester dives toward him, barreling the angel over. This is not going well.

Crowley shoots Lester but the fall to the ground has pushed a metal exam table between them and the solution hits that. Lester grabs Cas by both shoulders, pinning him, and with a grin of sick satisfaction opens his mouth. The angel blade clatters to the floor like a gift as Cas is occupied with holding the toothy maw at bay. With a thought the blade is Crowley’s hands. He stands and watches as various equipment moves back and forth as it is kicked by tumultuous feet. 

Lester fights like a dog against a fence to get his teeth at Cas who is just managing to hold him at arms length... the mouth snaps and snarls closer and closer. Lester moves wildly, twisting and turning, not providing a clear shot. Crowley still just stands and watches, trying to decide what to do. Whether he cares if the angel dies. He does. He has to. C’mon. At the very least Lester will be easier to take down now while he is distracted!

So...Name drop! Distract him! Crowley agrees and steps closer. 

“Lester. Regards from the red Dragoness.” 

Lester freezes for a half second and that’s when Crowley swings. The blade sings with finality as it hits flesh...

And a head falls to the floor. 


	31. The Leviathan Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an impossibility, and a humbled demon.

Black ichor stains Cas’s coat as he lays on the ground. 

“This was a new coat.”

“Well, it’s not Armani.” Says Crowley as he backs up, unimpressed.

Cas stands, keeping an eye on the chomping head on the ground. Crowley snaps and it vanishes and a box, indeed with a big red ribbon, appears in its place, twitching. Then it and the body vanish. Cas stares. 

“I’ll take care of it. Don’t ruffle your feathers...except the one you owe me.”

Cas sighs and stands, hands covered in ichor. 

“This fluid is dangerous, let-“ Crowley snaps and that is also gone. 

“Feather? And don’t pull out your wings in here, I don’t want to see that.”

“They make you uncomfortable?” Says Cas with the slightest of smiles betraying his satisfaction. 

“No. But I don’t have hot sauce or blue cheese to go- of course they make me uncomfortable! Demon!”

“I have to take them out to acquire the feather you have requested.” Crowley huffs, I am excited. I am gonna get to see wings! Shadows sure but-

“No Chew Toy. Not shadows. Do you know the cost, monetary and timewise, of CGI today? Why do you think the monsters were always human? It wasn’t just because most were, it’s because showing the ones that aren’t, is expensive. So-“

Cas smirks and his eyes glow. The air shimmers and heats up around him, displacing atoms as dust swirls into existence. The dust glows, concentrates, and wings begin to grow as if they are being summoned or brought into view one particle at a time. Which maybe they are. 

The bones are blackened, sinew is visible. They look painful, and the few feathers remaining are sad to see. Grey teal, not white, gold, or blue like I would have thought. Still, despite that they are majestic in their size, filling the room and speaking of a presence that can’t be seen. 

Crowley steps back. However limited Cas is on earth, his true form is still impressive; and the wings hint at it. Cas is still more powerful than Crowley right now, he couldn’t kill the King of Hell permanently, but a fight between them would still send Crowley out of his body many many times. 

“Ok Cas, you’ve impressed the Chew Toy and any mice in the room. Now... Feather.” Cas’s face betrays nothing as he moves a wing to Crowley, a single feather on the end within reach. Crowley looks out at the wing, and with venomous eyes at Cas, before reaching out a hand. He immediately recoils. Cas smiles and Crowley glares. He quickly reaches out again and goes to pluck the feather. 

It burns. His fingers blister as they get close. When they touch the feather still attached to the wing the flesh ignites. I wince and want to scream, but Crowley just grits his teeth. He won’t show any weakness in front of this angel. He doesn’t show weakness, but definitely not in front of this particular angel. I however, am screaming. 

He pulls and the feather comes out with ease, the pain lessens immediately but his hand doesn’t heal. As he gets farther from the wing he shakes his hand and the flames go out, revealing flesh without skin and the tip of a bone on one finger. 

The feather is long, the size of his forearm. It glistens with light as he spins it. Slowly, away from the influence of angelic grace his hand begins to heal. He looks at Cas out of the corner of his eye; thanking him with an expression hiding the type vitriol that can only be shared between allies and friends. Or in Crowley’s case, frenemies.

“Pleasure Cas. I-“ Hey. Hey take him back. Don’t make him take a plane or whatever. Crowley pauses and looks at Cas; his stoney expression and fading wings. 

“Why Chew Toy?” Cuz it’d make me happy, don’t you want to feel that right now? Triumph? You barely feel it, and you should right now. Even if it’s from me. 

“On the contrary, I feel perfectly happy.” He looks at Cas. “Ta.”

We vanish. 

Hours later, after what I assume was Crowley relaxing with some recreational murder, we appear in a small town somewhere in Italy. I don’t know how I know it is Italy, I suppose Crowley let’s me know. Trees are on either side of the long pebble covered pathway. A lone building has smoke rushing out of the chimney. It smells amazing, warm and garlicky. Cows graze nearby and somewhere a sheep bleats and a donkey answers. It’s bright, beautiful, and I have no idea why we are here. Crowley doesn’t respond but walks up the path to the house. We walk through a garden with tomatoes of many types, zucchini, and more. As we get closer a parking lot becomes visible, with a few cars baking in the sun. 

A bell rings as we enter and it becomes quite clear what is going on. 

We are in a pizzeria. The smell is amazing. Rich and filled with flavor. There is a sign inside, a mosaic on the front of the counter.

Antonio’s Homemade Pizzeria. Crowley walks in and a few heads turn before going back to their meals. Talk ebbs and flows like a tide around us, the wonderful language filled with expression and vitality. Crowley walks up to the counter where there is a waiter at the register. To the left is a cooking area where dough is being kneaded and pizzas are being made within full view. The person at the counter smiles and Crowley speaks in fluent Italian. Which I somehow understand. 

“I am here to see Antonio.”

“He is busy.”

“Tell him Crowley is here, I am sure he will make time.”

“Sir, I canno-“ Crowley snaps and every person, including the one we are talking to falls asleep. Crowley walks behind the counter and past the wood brick oven. The oven is tiled with ceramic and puts off a great deal of heat. We enter the door beside it and on the other side is a hall. It is long and white, with old paint over clay. To the left a screen door leads outside and another garden and some cows can be seen. Directly across from us is a door with a plaque that says Antonio. Crowley knocks. 

“Si?”

“Enjoying those 9 years Tony?” There is silence. It hangs. Then…

“What can I do for you Crowley?” Crowley opens the door and the man on the other side gasps. Crowley looks around. There is warding everywhere. Barely visible, hidden in art and wall paper, carvings, and more. Crowley looks up and on the ceiling in a mosaic is a devil’s trap. He looks back to Antonio hiding his amusement under calm hints of displeasure. 

“I will discount this rudeness if you do me a favor.”

“H-how? The witch said-“ Antonio's face is covered in fear and dismay. His hair is black and short, as is his beard. He is middle aged and a tad overweight. Just a bit. His arms are strong though, and his square face has lines that tell me he had a hard life. 

“King of Hell. Now. Favor?”

“No. You have my soul, I will give you nothing more for nine years I am waiting.”

“How about if I offer you another three years?” Antonio is silent. 

“Depends on the favor.”

“Naturally. I want three pizzas. One for each year I’m willing to give you.”

“You...want pizzas? Why not just order at the counter?”

“Because I want you to make them, and what I want isn’t on the menu.”

Oh boy. You’re gonna do a fucking long pig pizza aren’t you Crowley? Jesus dude. Will she even like that? 

“If she doesn’t, I will feed it to Growley.” Antonio looks confused. “Just talking to a friend. Now. Do we have a deal?” Ask what type of pizzas first Antonio! C’mon! 

“We do.”

Goddammit. 

A pepperoni pizza with meat cut fresh from the links. A three cheese with garlic, fresh oregano, fresh basil, and fresh veal from Antonio’s newest calf. The third one has onion caramelized in fresh Canadian maple syrup... and fresh American bacon, from an American. 

Antonio is not pleased with the last order. But he made a deal, and so he makes the pizzas while Crowley sits and eats a slice with sweet balsamic vinegar and baby spinach. With a fork and knife. 

The first pizza is in the oven within 5 minutes. The second and third...Crowley hadn’t brought the meat pre-cut, and the calf was still alive. He sits and chews as he watches Antonio head out to the back with a face that shows he has done worse. A lot worse. And had never expected to have to do it again. Who was he?

“Prison. Attacked a boy who tried to rape his sister. Boy happened to be the son of a visiting politician.” What did he want from you? Crowley smiles. “That isn’t what is important. What is important is that after he got out he spent 10 years slowly working toward destroying that family. Murder. Infiltration. Joining gangs or worse, legitimate businesses, to get what he wanted. And when he succeeded...he was going to be hunted for the rest of his life when all he wanted to do was retire to his family’s house and make pizza. Like his father. So…” You took care of the people looking for him. Crowley nods and takes another bite. It is Very good pizza. Fresh. Every ingredient made here, or locally. There is a loud moo from out back and then silence. Crowley takes another bite. 

…………………………….

Soon we are on our way back to Hell. Three pizzas, one leviathan in two parts, one angel feather. It had taken three days to get ahold of Cas, after that...one day. Just one day. 

Success. 

The gate to Purgatory is before us, Dan waiting. 

“Crowley.”

“Dan. How is the dragon?”

“She’s been keeping herself amused with Bernard.”

“He’s survived?”

“Yes.”

“Pity.” Crowley snaps his finger and the body of the leviathan appears. He has the box with the ribbon, that is still shaking, and the feather. The pizzas are next to the body. “Be a good dog and help me carry these things to her.” Dan growls a bit but picks up the pizzas and grabs the corpse by the hand. Crowley steps through and we are all pushed into Purgatory. 

The dragon is waiting. Huge and dangerous. As Red as Crowley. The same red. She lifts her head from next to Bernard and looks at us with piercing eyes and amusement. Bernard breathes a sigh of relief at not being the center of attention any more.

“Little demon. You’ve brought me gifts I see.” 

“Yes. As requested.” Crowley holds out the box, which twitches as if on command. 

“Open it please.” Crowley pauses. “And put his body nearby.”

“If they reattach-“

“Oh, I hope they do.” Crowley swallows, but nods and with a snap the box opens as Dan throws the body close to it. 

“Hello Asphaerondusjon.” The head in the box spits and twitches and screeches. The box knocks over and the head and body start to reconnect. The black ichor reaches out in tendrils to each part. The dragon watches in amusement. 

“Such a small form you’ve taken. How unlike the many times we fought against one another. When you were big enough to spread your ooze out and scar my back with your teeth.”

“I will devour you dragon! I will spit out your bones and-“

“You grew tiresome three eons ago. The only thing interesting about you, is your new body...and how it will expire.” The head schlops back and the monster stands up ready to attack. “Goodbye Asphaerondusjon.” 

And we see dragon fire for the first time. 

It’s hot beyond belief. It isn’t red. Or yellow. Or orange. No. It is the white blue of the hottest part of a flame. The small bit at the bottom that burns bright and hot, the part that the rest of the flame grows from. This fire is not small, and nothing grows from it. In its entirety is the idea of time. For all time is, is the observation of the changes in energy. This stuff coming from the dragon’s maw is the essence of time, start to end. And right now, it is showing the end. 

The leviathan flails and screams in agony. There is hissing as the ichor inside it heats and oozes out of pores. It gets thicker as it warms up, until it moves like tar and screams with a sound like a teapot just starting to boil. The body starts to flake away around the black ichor, becoming ash so fine it floats. The pool of black left writhes under the white hot heat. It hardens, turns to obsidian, cracks, then crumbles and becomes a black ugly ash on the ground before floating away on a light breeze. 

All within ten seconds. 

“Well, now we know what kills Leviathans in Purgatory.” Fuck yeah we do. Crowley stands a few feet back, coat unpleasantly warm. The grounds around the space where the leviathan was, is dead and blackened. A crater that contains a memory. The dragon snorts and shakes her head free of the last bit of flame and smoke. Her whole body shivers and she moves a bit, adjusting herself before addressing her audience. 

“Well, I see you have brought me the food I requested. Much of it.” Crowley takes a deep breath. Not scared, but definitely impressed. 

“Yes. No additives, I had a feeling you might taste those. So. Organic.” 

“I appreciate the thought, but I will wish to try them too. So. What have you obtained for me?” 

Crowley waves Dan over. He sighs but brings the pizzas. 

“First. The classic.”

“I have seen humans eat this. They talk of it often and it appears in many parts of the world.” A single claw spears the entire pizza and it disappears into her maw. She barely chews, she just moves it around in her mouth and then swallows. “It was interesting for the first three seconds. I like fresh papaya from someone else’s stomach better. And the next?”

“Three cheeses. Veal. Fresh herbs.” I am trying not to die from laughter. Crowley is sending jolts of pain my way but it makes the situation no less insane. This pizza disappears in much the same manner. She pauses after this. Thoughtful. 

“Bring me one of those beer covered cows, alive if possible, next time we meet.” I wonder for a moment if she has even had alcohol before...and how much it would take to get a dragon drunk...and what the fuck type of drunk she would be dear god. “I will have half of the last one. I can smell the human flesh from here. I haven’t had human meat in over 2000 years… I wonder if it has changed.” She carves the pizza, and box, in half with a claw and it vanishes as well. She makes a face and swallows it quickly. 

“The human tastes like drugs and chemicals. If you bring me such fare to eat again, bring ones that will not taste so. You may have the rest, or dispose of it.” Crowley nods, but looks at the pizza with a bit of distaste. He did not like that much cheese on human, unless the human was alive.

However...Dragoness notices the slight look and her cruel smile appears. 

“Have a bit. I insist. You would not bring me something you yourself did not find to be in good taste, would you?”

“Of course I would. My standards are a bit obscene, even for a demon. Besides, I have no clue if we have similar tastes when it comes to what we eat. I don’t even know What dragons eat.” Dragoness grins. 

“Whatever we want.” Crowley has no response to that other than agreement, I feel similarly. 

“Either way, I’m saving room for my own meal.” 

The red dragon laughs. 

“No matter the similarities or innuendo one uses to describe what you are doing to souls, you do not consume them; at least not through your stolen stomach. So, I say again. Eat. Or will you put your tastebuds above your other desires?” Crowley swallows, and begins to push his way into my soul so he would taste it through me, at least get some enjoyment from my discomfort. “Ah, don’t bring your toy into this little demon. Your test with the leviathan and the Angel was simple. This is your real test. Can you prostrate yourself to me? Do this without intent for revenge. Be happily subservient and allow me the pleasure of your discomfort? Willingly offer me what you have taken from your toy for decades? I had neither seen nor felt discomfort of that type for hundreds of years until I asked you to speak bluntly. I wish to see it again. Can you do this? Give me something that not only provides you no pleasure, but a loss?”

Crowley stands stock still. He was being asked to bow, willingly, to someone else, with no intent on reparations. 

“Will the deal be off if I do not?” 

“No. That is the point. If you could gain something tangible, certain, from this, then you would do it without a second thought. This is a test of loyalty, of equality, of friendship. Only friends give something for nothing. Are you my friend little demon? Or are you going to use me? I am fine with either, but one will be far more interesting when it ends in inevitable battle and blood. Shall we meet that day as equals, or must one always be better than the other? Do you even have the strength to admit, and allow yourself, an equal?” 

Jesusfuckingchrist. And she is using pizza to find this out? That was a risk that Crowley would bring something he wouldn’t like. Crowley grasps onto the question as a way to avoid the dragon’s.

“Chew Toy has a point. How did you know I would bring something I had no interest in eating?” 

“I was going to have you eat the angel feather, this seemed less painful in the long run. Have you ever had angel pinions stuck in your gums? Or throat? Not pleasant. Although I believe the grace might be more problematic for you little demon. If you prefer that to the pizza…”

The dragon trails off and watches Crowley’s inner turmoil along with me. This is difficult for Crowley. It would be easy for me. A dragon as a friend? Yes please. I don’t care if I never gain anything from that other than the ability to say I have a dragon as my friend. That is a fucking dream right there. 

This dragon doesn’t want anything from Crowley that he would be unwilling to give. She doesn’t want his throne. His belongings. His power. She doesn’t even want his pride, though it may seem like it. She wants truth. Is the King of Hell able to consider someone his equal? Not his lesser and not his better, because either of those can rarely be anything other than allies, tools, or enemies. She waits patiently, smoke curling out of her nose and mouth. The vampire Bernard and the werewolf Dan stand stock still, watching and waiting to see if the King of Hell could prostrate himself willingly. 

The dragon is cunning. Manipulative. Unafraid. Brilliant in almost every regard. She is obviously more powerful than him.

Right now. 

What she is asking is, when they are equal in power, in reality or in one of their minds, would he see them as equals… or something else? She knew he would try to kill her, she had said so. The first time as an off hand comment about him rivaling her, but Crowley caught it, and so did I. Then she outright said she knew. It seemed she all but welcomed it, but would that fight be one where the victor accepts their prize with respect for their opponent, or not? It didn’t matter to her if the fight was one of trickery, or cunning, or force. It didn’t matter if the fight itself would be respectful or not. But she was curious. Did she have his honest respect? Not for her power or what she could give him, but her.

She had asked him if he was strong enough to admit he had an equal, and it was a challenge to him. He did not like to back down from those if he considered them worthy. This one was a contradiction though. His head, and my head too, are going in circles. 

“Your meal is getting cold little demon.”

Crowley looks at the pizza, and then at the dragon. He bends over and picks up a slice, and examines it. Silence. He looks her in the eye, one bigger than him, and says:

“My name, is Crowley.” 

And he takes a bite.

I have never seen so many teeth in my life, nor a smile as large as the one the Dragoness gives then. It almost makes up for the cold pizza. 

“Then we have a deal. You may drop the rest. My curiosity has been satisfied...Crowley. And because equals repay favors in kind, even metaphorical ones…” she stands. The ground shakes and some trees have their tops broken off. A rather large boulder is knocked away by a tail. She towers over the clearing, nothing humble or small about her, almost as if such ideas were in direct conflict with her existence....

And she bows to the King of Hell. Her neck lowers, her foreleg bends, and her head near touches the ground. 

It is an awe inspiring sight. To see something so huge offer a gesture of respect to something so small. 

She stands again and looks at the demon in front of her. 

“Now that we have gone past the formalities of starting an agreement, let us move forward. This will be deeper than a contract. I will not sign anything, ever. My name will not be writ anywhere. It is not done among my kind. No, this is a deal of words. Magic is my blood and life. So, if I wish our words to be binding, they shall be.”

Crowley happily drops the pizza into the box and kicks it away. That admittance had been so hard it had almost physically hurt. But he had gained a very very powerful, not ally, but friend. One that showed its respect and deal with him openly. One that would impress the enormity of his accomplishments on any being. However, a deal with no proof, even between friends, was unsettling.

“I would still like it in writing somewhere…”

“It will be writ on my soul, when you are able to examine it without burning up, you may read it in depth. However it will say nothing other than what we have said. This conversation etched upon my very being. I have no need for deceptions in writing. So, shall we consummate our partnership King of Hell?”

Crowley furrows his brows, confused. The dragon leans over Crowley. She towers over the clearing, and as she speaks, begins to shrink and morph. “Please feel free...” her voice changes, rumbling and growing sweet. She glows with heat and when the light fades she stands in front of Crowley; naked, covered in scales, teeth sharp and eyes dangerous, body strangely human. “-to use tongue.” 

………………………..

I stand next to her, my soul taking the form of my old body. Crowley is in front of all of us, holding a large golden orb that radiates fire. It spins in place and as it does the area around it breaks, the lines of energy, magic and reality that hold the universe together can be seen twisting in and around the orb. Feeding it, sustaining it.

This, is a dragon soul. The dragon is next to me, still small, naked, and covered in scales, smiling.

“Eat up King of Hell, unless you fear I will burn you away.” Crowley’s eyes widen in agreement and mild trepidation, it was a possibility. Still… The smoke pours, blasts out of his meat suit and encircles the orb. The dragon beside me watches curiously as Crowley tries to take her soul. The flames from it seem to scorch and burn away the smoke as it curls and recoils around it. He is trying to surround it but the heat seems to keep him at bay. He swirls keeping a berth, a distance, but moves and covers it like steam until it can no longer be seen except as you would the sun behind a cloud. The smoke stops, then pulls back into the body, leaving nothing behind. Crowley stands and straightens, stiff and still as if working through something. 

There is a slow applause. Both Crowley and I look at the dragon. 

“Good job King of Hell. Now, bring it back in one piece, and claim many others while you are out. I will be watching.” Crowley adjusts his shoulders and jaw slightly, still apparently getting used to his new companion. 

“Watching? I’m not sure I feel comfortable giving a show I haven’t rehearsed or at least played with the props a bit for.”

“Too bad. As long as there is magic, my soul is connected to it, and if I am connected to magic I am connected with my soul. So, put on a performance, King of Hell.” Crowley winces. “But sit down a bit. Adjust first.” I stand quietly, waiting, happy to be free, to be watching him without knowing what he is experiencing. If he is in pain, if that pain is bringing him pleasure. It’s not, apparently, because he scowls. 

“I don’t…” he pauses, remembering who he is talking to. “Nothing a bit of food won’t cure, I’m sure.” The dragon smiles, her teeth far sharper than a vampire’s, her eyes nowhere near human. Her presence, despite her current size, is immense, and her way of speaking only magnifies the feeling.

“Go. Eat. I will be here.” She pauses for a moment and points to the right. “I suggest starting there, a pack of wolves is fighting a flock of strix, which I believe have not been seen on earth since the battle of Thermopylae where they attacked one of the camps at night. Hurry, and most of them might still be alive. 

Crowley glares, but stands, still stiff, and vanishes. 

The dragon turns to me and smiles. 

“So, Chew Toy, tell me what You think dragons are.”

……………………………….

“So the theory is that the pearl often held by Japanese dragons is their egg, and that is why they are-”

“Yeah but what about tha European dragons? What kinda eggs do they lay in tha stories?” Asks Bernard, Dan nodding in agreement at the question, wondering what I know. 

“Yes, Chew Toy, what type of eggs do they say dragons like myself bear?”

“They don’t. In the most ancient lore it isn’t often touched on, because that wasn’t what was of interest. The gold being hoarded, the innocent virgin, that’s what was sought after. That and the metaphor for Satan. Until Pendragon I’m not sure dragons were seen as wise in Europe, just dangerous beasts. I can do more research...if Crowley let’s me. I was never into the whole simple ‘hero slays dragon’ thing. It was either cliche or a metaphor.”

“You mean, they didn’t even think about how the dragons came to be? No thought about the next generation?” Asks Dan. 

“I have no clue Dan! Not a monster remember! Not that old. Not working off of hunter’s journals. Working off stories. And that is what we have, stories, not reports. So each story is what was important, not how the dragon got there, just the hero and the-”

“Chew Toy, Bernard, Dan...Dragoness.” We all look up from the stumps we are sitting on, the dragon once again curled around us, large and protective of her stories. Crowley stands there, completely unscathed. The dragon rumbles as she sees him and the ground near us vibrates.

“Did you enjoy your hunt King of Hell? It has been near a day. Who won the fight between the wolves and the strix?”

“I did.” He steps forward holding a feather between his fingers. “And the fight with the vampires, and the one with the two vetala, and the… what was that stupid name Dean gave them?” I sigh. That I could remember. 

“….Jefferson starships?”

“Right. And finally, an old friend had a bone to pick. The Alpha Shapeshifter.” He drops the feather and looks at the Dragoness. “I lost an arm and a leg today, literally.” The Dragoness chuckles, and my eyes widen as I look away. Fuck. He looked completely fine. Things were moving a bit faster than I expected. 

“I’m glad my soul’s magic gives you such pleasure. You may get through your bucket list yet King of Hell.”

Crowley pauses.

“That was something I noticed.”

“That I may read you, but that I do not reciprocate? My soul is closed to you for now. One day you will be able to overwhelm me, and I look forward to it.” Crowley looks at her. “Because that will be an interesting day.”

“And fighting leviathans isn’t?” The dragon rolls her eyes.

“They have one strategy, and when it comes to that strategy they are brilliant in all things it contains. But it is still one strategy.”

“And that is?”

“Eat. And if they cannot, they ignore. My son was eaten long ago, his spirit now roams free of their interference, for he holds less interest for them because his flesh is no longer sweet and real.”

“And I’m assuming the only reason you don’t lose so you can be left alone is… pride?” I ask looking up. A gust of hot air is my answer.

“Pride is useless at best and dangerous at worst. Take pride in your accomplishments, but never in yourself, or you will become over confident. No, I am proud of what I have done and learned, and each fight I come out on top of is something to be proud of. But no, I will not let them eat me because…” She leans close to my face and as she speaks I can see the back of her throat light up with fire. “That would be giving them what they want, and I Love denying those pompous stomachs with teeth what they want…” She flaps her wings and pine needles fly as she looks at Crowley.

“So. If you die-”

“The contract is binding Crowley. You will never tear apart my soul; should you win, I will ride with you until eternity, and the contract will last. I will happily give my soul so you take no other dragon’s. Especially if you agree to dispose of my body so the black ichor may not enjoy it. I believe your mother would have conniptions if you brought her a dragon eye. I also know for a fact dragonflesh is sweet. The tip of my younger brother’s tail was. Besides, riding with you...” She looks down at me and smiles. I nod.

“Will be interesting.” Her breath huffs hot in my face, showing her approval that I’ve caught on. Her neck snakes down and her eye regards the King of Hell with amusement.

“You do not frighten me King of Hell. You never will. This universe will end and another will start. Perhaps you will live to see the next, but for as long as there is magic... there may be dragons.” 

“So...You’ve been around for...multiple universes?” I ask. She looks at me and blinks, and Crowley is next to us. She nods to a seat, a stump. Crowley looks at it with a bit of distaste and decides to stand. The dragon chuckles.

“No, this is the first that lasted to such success. But I was tiny in my youth, wriggling to where I wasn’t supposed to be. Listening to things I shouldn’t. Getting caught and told off by a hand so big it engulfed not places but minds, and amusing it just enough to be told that if I liked this existence, I would love the next chapter.” 

“You got into heaven?” The dragon looks at Bernard. 

“Heaven and earth were close in the beginning. A flying distance of an hour with a truth used to pick the lock. I miss those days, when everything was close and far, when abstractions of thought meant something as real as a river.” She inhales and sighs, a bit of fire singing the grass nearby. She is lost in memory, eyes far off. The gaze seems to continue forever and there is little sound but the beating of her heart and the rumble of fire in her throat. Crowley coughs and she blinks, her eyes focusing and a smile once again coming to her face.

“So, may I have the name of the one who wrote the first loophole? Of the dragon I have made a deal with?” Crowley asks. 

“No.” I grin. I think I know why. She looks at me and smoke continues to curl from her nostrils. “Tell him Chew Toy.” 

“If she is magic, Crowley, then her name IS her. It’s powerful. Like how people used to think knowing a demon’s name gave you power over them.” Crowely blinks and the dragon rumbles.

“It is close enough a description to work.” She looks down at Crowley and as she speaks, she grows. “Dragoness is fine. So, until the day comes when you can defeat me and take my soul, and name, for your own, we have an accord King of Hell. So...Eat, grow strong...so you may give me an interesting day.”

………………………………..

The first thing I notice upon my return, is that there is only Crowley. Any soul that was here before, had been turned to white sparkles. Any white sparkles were pink. Any pink...were gone. Whatever he had obtained in Purgatory, was just blown to little bits by the dragon’s soul. He had expected to have to wait years for each monster soul to fall apart, at least until he was powerful enough to rip them up as he wanted. They were whole after all; not broken by torture like a demon, not frail from isolation, not in contract with him, not weak from being turned human, they were whole, if warped. Souls couldn’t be destroyed after all, just turned into other things. The weakness he was counting on in most monsters was that they were once human, and their souls had indeed been twisted in some way.

He had been right, they were weak in some way, so he could change them, but...the dragon. She just...

Crowley walks down the halls of Hell, quiet. He has a lot to contemplate. A Hell of a lot. The universe had just changed for him. He had something new. Not a dragon, but an ally more powerful than him who Wanted his success. It was completely...alien. 

And he is thinking about this while on a metaphorical ‘empty stomach’. He is sweating, hurting, for a fix. After all, he is still an addict. He would want emotions from me, energy from at least ten other souls, and of course a new contract. He heads to his room and the devil’s trap on the ceiling tries to hold him but cracks as we walk under it. Crowley snaps and it repairs itself. Then with a wave the painting is moved, the cupboard opens and his ‘fish tank’ is revealed. It is as beautiful as the day he got it, some … however many years ago.The faces still mingled with flowers and vines that reached for the top. Sigils still held it locked and free from prying scrys. He takes a breath and with a wave the box opens to reveal a sea. Souls, swimming circles in a pool that didn’t have a bottom. His collection is finally back up to what it once was, and then some. He looks at them, and sighs. He puts the lid back on and looks at the jars on the shelves. Marinating souls, breaking apart from solitude, boredom and living with their own thoughts for decades. There’s 40. He shakes his head and closes the cupboard. 

I am concerned. Something is wrong. Something is on his mind. He ignores me and makes a beeline for his office. Two steps and he is there, sitting at his desk, pen in hand. He snaps and papers appear on the desk, three pages. He turns to the last one and looks at it. 

His bucket list. 

He holds his pen a second in the air and then scratches a / next to the word Alpha near the top. He goes past Seraphim, nephilim, archangel and more, and stops at the bottom. The big one. Leviathan. He sighs, eyes wide and shakes his head. 

And below leviathan writes Dragoness.

And we both swear we can hear a rumble of fiery laughter in the distance.


	32. The Field Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the main characters of the show appear, and things get awkward.

Crowley sighs. He was trying to be polite. It has been five years since we met Dragoness. He had circled the date before he met her. He had let them know he was coming. He had shown up without weapons. He had left his contracts, even the standard rider, in Hell. His Hellhounds were all on errands far away from here. His mother was next to him for credibility. 

“Call again Fergus.”

“Mother, I’ve called three times and knocked six. I sent a bloody letter.” Literally, it was bloody, they probably didn’t like that it was carved on flesh Crowley. “Yeah, well appearances mean something Chew Toy. Either way they know I’m here.” Rowena frowns. 

“Maybe if I call…”

“Mother. I made it very clear. Tuesday. March. 1 pm.” It’s 12:58. “Yes, and at 1, I’m breaking down the door, again. It’s-” There is a flash and out of the door to the abandoned house in the middle of bumblefuck nowhere comes a familiar face. Castiel.

“Crowley.”

“C’ass, cutting it a bit close.”

“The less time you are up here the better.”

“Still rebuilding from the first time?”

“Yes.”

“Well, don’t steal my toys. Now...may we? I brought a friend.” 

“Hello Cas, how-”

“You brought many friends.” Crowley pauses, and with fake confusion on his face he looks to each side. 

“Cas. It’s just us bugs.”

“How many now Crowley?” Crowley sighs and throws up his hands in annoyance.

“This again. Really Cas-”

“How. Many?”

“It’s not just about how many Cas, it’s about who-”

“Crowley.” Crowley frowns and looks at Cas with more annoyance.

“I hit 521,666 last week. Happy?” Rowena looks at her son for a moment, startled. She had not known he had gotten that far that fast. 

“No. You’re taking human souls and destroying them.” Oh. Right, he doesn’t know. This will be a fun evening. I wonder which he will hate more, that you’re taking souls from Purgatory, or that you’re succeeding where he failed? Crowley ignores me. 

“You’re never happy. And not destroying, changing. Now as I was saying Kerubiel and I had lunch last week in-”

“Kerubial has been missing for eight days, no one has seen him.” Crowley looks as Cas like he is an idiot. He is. Sometimes. He had reverted a bit back to his old bluntness and literal interpretation of things since the Winchesters died. He visited them frequently, but he had his duties. Rowena sighs and shakes her head.

“Fergus, dinnae provoke him. It’ll ruin the visit.” She wasn’t wrong. Crowley sighs and waves at Cas, he would figure it out eventually. 

“So, are we getting the scooby gang back together or not? There hasn’t been an apocalypse-like event in 78 years, and I got rid of the last one myself, let’s celebrate.”

“Crowley, you killed a nephilim, that doesn’t constitute-”

“Ah, but did you know the mother was host to a demon at the time?” Cas pauses. “No? See, saved the world from another terrible cliche. You’re welcome. Now, may we?” Cas grumbles but steps aside. It wasn’t worth the damage or loss of life. 

“Thank ye Castiel.” Rowena nods as she passes him and pats him on the shoulder. He ignores her and frowns, adjusting his jaw as he looks both ways before following us.

The landing pad is Surrounded by angels, seraphim, cherubim, principalities… Crowley raises his eyebrows. 

“I didn’t bring enough for everyone.” He holds up a rather large picnic basket and a bottle of scotch. The angels are unmoved. “Tough crowd….. Get stuck in my teeth.” He whispers almost to himself and Rowena nudges him in the ribs. I’m laughing. I mean as morbid as it is, I always had a darkly sick and twisted sense of humor. “Thank you Chew Toy. See mother, someone appreciates my humor.” Rowena rolls her eyes and takes the scotch. 

“Cas, where are we going?” She asks with a glare at her son.

“Follow me. Do not stray fro-”

“The yellow brick road, I know skeleton wings.” We follow Cas and the angels part before him. They scatter, in sets of three, to guard entrances, hallways, doors, every single pathway that isn’t the one we are on. They had agreed to this only because the last time he had come up to visit friends he had destroyed an office, and the first time had been chaos. I hadn’t known this at the time but he had fought his way to a hall near me and literally threw a piece of wood covered in sigils down. They had to get a soul to come move it. 

I thought it was hilarious. I mean, scrap wood, covered in sigils. It was a floor at some point. Why had that not been done before?

Then I remembered I had asked him that question years ago.

Oops. 

Heaven looks exactly the same. White. White white white. Fresh office building white. Insane asylum white. Boring as fuck. Crowley agrees. Even Hell was better than this monotony. We walk around a corner and a hall of a thousand halls lays before us. Cas takes a step and as we follow we all move an indeterminate amount of distance in a step, like the floor beneath us had shrunk to let our feet land where Cas wanted them to. It is disorienting. We repeat the process a few times and even Crowley is shaking his head a bit. 

“Really, this was the best thing you could think of for navigating your souls?”

“And yours is better?”

“Yes!”

“I saw the line Crowley.”

“And it works!” 

“Boys.” Rowena’s tone is that of a mother, something I never got to be and so never mastered, but they both listen. A fight between the three of them would be catastrophic, anyway. I’d totally pay to see that. 

Cas stops in front of a door, Bobby Singer. He looks at Crowley.

“If you even think of-”

“Hey, my friends too.”

“You don’t have friends.”

“You’d be surprised, also I’d say the people in there have a different opinion.” Cas sighs and opens the door. 

“Rowena!”

“Samuel!” 

And reunions ensue.

……………………………………. 

“I know we parted on bad terms Samuel, but I-”

“Rowena, it’s fine.”

“No Samuel, it’s not.”

“Rowena, I was 60. Dean was older.”

“Damn right I was.” Dean takes a sip of beer and toasts the air, proud he lasted that long as a hunter. 

Everyone looks their preferred self, the age they liked themselves the best at. Bobby is still middle aged, how he looked he when he felt he had successfully been a father to the two men in his living room. His face is round and his beard red. He indeed does wear a cap, but he is a bit thinner, as if he hit on some lean times towards the end. Dean looks 50, his face still chiseled, but silver runs through his hair and he has a small bit of stubble. He is classically handsome and tall, a bit thicker than the actor that portrayed him, but his broad shoulders and the barrel belly speak of painfully hard labor and not exercise for pronounced muscles. Sam is thin, wiry with muscles that stand out all the more for it. His hair is long and in a ponytail, tied back and out of the way for reading. 

All are indeed wearing flannel.

Crowley and Bobby are in the kitchen watching the exchange. Crowley shakes his head.

“Moose is….sigh.”

“Forgiving?”

“Contradictorily so.”

“Crowley, those boys are two contradictions wrapped in family issues and held together by beer and anger.”

“Well a moose is an ungulate so I’m not surprised he’s an oxymoron.. Drink?”

“You actually brought Scotch into heaven?”

“You say that as if they could stop me.”

“We could.” Crowley pauses mid pour and looks at Cas standing behind him, chaperoning, and sighs.

“Angel face, it was a comment about my love for scotch, not a challenge. Put your tape measure away, this isn’t a contest.” Jesus. Crowley, a little less harsh. “No Chew Toy, he needs to learn as you say ‘how to social.’ He’s worse at it than you.” Bobby’s face is tight as he takes a drink.

“You still got that...prisoner I see.”

“Rarely leaves my side. Well, right above my liver specifically, but still.” Bobby shakes his head.

“Crowley, it’s cruel. Let her out up here.”

“And I’m a demon, nice to meet you. And she would hate it up here.” I would. Creating for no one? Not able to get actual critiques on my art? Ugh. “Besides, you should thank her, she lets me feel things without knocking over blood banks, or people.” Yeah, my feelings, not yours. Crowley sips his drink and leans on the counter. This was a fucking surreal experience. Frenemies galore. 

“Your emotions are more controllable… and as for friends...that’s why we have alcohol Chew Toy. Take out that last bit of vitriol.”

“What are you both goin on about?”

“Frenemies. The tenuous line we walk between being drinking buddies and playing russian roulette with The Colt.”

“You got The Colt?” Dean walks up with a beer.

“I do indeed. I lend it out on occasion to a wonderful band of hunters.”

“Why in the lord's name would you of all people do that?”

“To...kill things Robert. I’m not sure what the misunderstanding is here.”

“Yeah, but to give The Colt, to hunters, who could use it on you? That don’t seem like you’re thinkin straight Crowley.”

“We have a wonderful deal, me and them. Multi-generational. Mooselette is a great great grandmother. I taught little Alexa how to shoot between the eyes last week at her birthday. Brought in a rugaru and everything.” Bobby and Dean stare. “What? Call me Uncle Crowley.”

“Yeah, an uncle that collects their fucking souls!”

“Well, that would kind of defeat the purpose of a multigenerational contract, wouldn’t it Robert?” Crowley sips his drink and pauses as he notices them staring. “Yes? Have I grown two heads, or are your brains still processing?”

“So...then what’s the play Crowley?”

“None. Only honest contract I’ve ever made. Well...there was another...but I didn’t exactly make that one.” Crowley sighs and toasts the air, a slight smile on his face. Dragoness. Crowley, are you in love?

“Don’t be stupid Chew Toy, demons don’t love.”

“Ok, hold up. What? Crowley... spill.” Says Dean leaning on the counter with his beer like a teen eager to hear about their friend’s latest boy or girlfriend.

“The mighty demon Crowley, in love? With what, a statue of himself?”

“Watch it Robert, you’re not far off…” He says with a side eye and a sip from his drink. “She is the only being in existence I am willing to admit, is my equal.” There is silence, even Sam and Rowena have stopped talking.

Dean breaks it.

“What? You? You think someone is your equal? No... Sam! You hear-”

“Yeah, I heard. Who is it Crowley? What’s her name?” Crowley smiles.

“She won’t tell me.” Castiel’s eyes narrow at this.

“What, you meet her on one of those online dating apps you said Hell designed?” Asks Dean after a sip of beer.

“We met in Purgatory, afternoon-”

“Wait wait. Hold up.” Says Dean holding up his hands and pointing his beer at Crowley. “You met in Purgatory? As in...Purgatory Purgatory?”

“You think I didn’t read your journals as soon as you left boys? I know about the backdoor from Hell. I know everything.”

“He turned it into a TV show.” Cas’s flat voice fills the room and half a second hangs before the air erupts with questions. 

“You What!?”

“No way. Crowley, why?”

“You idjit, you know how many people that could put in danger?”

“You...have a girlfriend Fergus, and dinnae tell me?”

Crowley snaps his fingers a couple of times and the room silences. He looks at his fingers. 

“Nice to know it still has an effect.”

“What did you do Crowley?” Everyone tenses at Sam’s question.

“Nothing, I just snapped. Now, mother, I don’t have a girlfriend. We kissed once, for the contract. Trust me, she is not anyone you would want as a daughter in law.”

“What the Hell did you find in Purgatory that you like enough to visit on a regular basis, and find a girl of all things?” Asks Bobby. Crowley blinks. 

“Besides her? Nothing. I went to visit.”

“Crowley. What were you doing in Purgatory?” Says Cas. Crowley pauses. Crowley was in Purgatory that time, specifically, to meet Bernard. C’mon Crowley... wait. Does your mother know you’ve been going there?

“No Chew Toy. She does not. And fine, I went there to meet someone. Bernard says hi Dean.”

“Wait, you went to meet Bernie? Why?”

“He was causing some trouble near the gate to Hell. We sorted it, well my new friend did.”

“Friend? Crowley, I. No, this is so far out there I don’t even know what to ask. Sam!” Dean holds his hands up and walks away to the fridge. 

“So, what’s she like Fergus? Is she beautiful? Smart? Dangerous? Powerful?”

“Mother, she is more powerful than everyone in this room combined; and yes Cas, I’m including my new and improved self in that.” 

“Wait, so we’re talking Lucifer level threat here?” Asks Dean as he shuts the fridge with another beer in hand. However Sam and Bobby are silent. They are not focused on the fact that there is a new creature, she’s in Purgatory after all. They noticed something else.

“Not at all. She and her ilk have no interest in taking over anything, not that you could stop her.”

“Crowley, what do you mean 'new and improved?’” The conversation pauses as Crowley turns to look at Castiel after Sam’s question. 

“You haven’t told them.... I thought this evening was going too smoothly.” Says Crowley as he chuckles and smiles. The whole room’s attention is now on Cas, who is silent.

“Told us what Cas? C’mon man.” Says Dean. Cas is silent still. Sam stands up from the couch and heads over.

“Castiel... told us what?” Says Sam, his jaw hard and eyes concerned. 

“Yeah, c’mon Casy, tell them.” Castiel swallows and looks away at the King of Hell’s comment. Oh boy. No wonder the Winchester’s weren’t trying to kill Crowley. 

“I am ashamed.”

“Of what? What the Hell could you have done that is worse than anything these two idjits have?”

“I...I failed.” Crowley lowers his head and smiles before heading over to his mother. Sam grabs his arm and stops him as he passes.

“Oi, you may be a soul but you can still wrinkle my suit Moose.” Sam doesn’t let go.

“Failed at what, Cas?” Crowley rolls his eyes and turns back to Cas.

“Yes Cas, this is a safe space, unload your wings.” Castiel tenses and glares at Crowley.

“Nowhere is safe with you around.”

“You flatter me, I’d-”

“All right you two, quit your flirting and spill.”

“I’m with Dean on this. Cas. We can help.” Says Sam at which Cas looks alarmed.

“No. It’s too dangerous. You don’t understand what is at risk.”

“Cas, if the world is in danger… it’s kinda our thing.”

“It’s not.” Everyone turns to look at Crowley. “What? It’s not in danger.” He’s not lying about that, he doesn’t want it, I knew, I could tell. He was happy with his little slice of Hell. I sigh, waiting for the coming explosion of horror and realization. Then blame. ...And I wonder how many will die again tonight. “No one Chew Toy. I took them off my list.”

“List? What fucking list? Crowley, I’m startin to git a bit tired a bein led in circles here.”

“I’m not the one leading. I’m on the donkey and I don’t have the carrot or the stick Robert.”

“Fergus, jest tell them. It’s not like anyone can do anythin’ about it.”

“Mother, don’t underestimate a Winchester. Saying that around them is like saying Macbeth backstage.” 

“What? Sam? You were a geeky theater kid, what the Hell does that mean?” 

“It’s bad luck... Crowley, how do you even know about- No, later. Cas, what the Hell is going on? Tell us.”

“I failed.”

“Yeah Cas, you said. Kinda need a bit more here bud.” Says Dean as he sets his beer down.

“I failed to stop him. I… I couldn’t stop Crowley.” They all turn to look at Crowley, still held by Sam and drinking his Scotch.

“Crowley. You couldn’t stop Crowley? From what? Buying suits? Dude, he’s-” Dean is cut off by Crowley pointing a finger at him.

“If you say harmless, I will-”

“What? What will you do? I’m already dead and I know for a Fact you don’t want us in Hell. We’d be there if you did. So what? What will you do?” 

“Dean…”

“No Cas, I wanna know what he’ll do.” ...Fuck. Dean. Don’t push him. Crowley...don’t. You took him off the list.

“I can put him back on Chew Toy. I’m getting peckish.” Crowley, c’mon. I mean if he was smart he’d get rid of all of them. Shit. Shouldn’t have thought that. “You’re not wrong Chew Toy. It’d be safest for me to put them back on. It wouldn’t be the safest for the world though, and not only did I make a promise to Dragoness, I happen to like the world. It has food, scotch, and my adoring public. So no, not back on the list.”

“Back on what? What promise?!” Yells Dean.

“Boy...I’m feelin somethin off here...best-”

“No Bobby. I wanna know! I’ve averted like four apocalypses, I think I have a right to some answers!”

“What do you wanna know’ Squirrel?” Says Crowley with a smug smile.

“I-I don’t even know anymore! Sam! What do we wanna know?!”

“What did you fail to stop Crowley from doing Cas? And what did you promise Crowley?”

“I promised her I’d keep your little planet running smoothly.” There is silence. Again. Dean and Bobby don’t understand yet; everyone else gets it. Even Sam. He remembers why Crowley wanted to help stop the very first apocalypse. 

“What? Crowley? Why would you protect the freakin planet?” Yells Dean. 

“Let me try to explain to your tiny brain in a way you’d relate to. If the diner is closed you can’t exactly get a burger. If the earth is an ash covered wasteland, I can’t get what I want.”

“Which is what exactly, princess?”

“Taking souls.” Everyone turns to Cas who has been silent for a while. Rowena is just quietly sipping a glass of wine, having given up on salvaging the evening and taking in the fight for entertainment purposes. It is pretty amusing. A ‘who's on first’ situation almost.

“Cas, he’s ….King of Hell. He kinda...does that?”

“No Sam. Taking souls for himself. Like I did. With Purgatory.”

“What? Cas... Explain, like, right now.” Crowley smiles at Dean’s anger laced question before sipping his drink. Rowena follows suit.

“He has 500,000.”

“He has... How many?!” Yells Dean. Sam swallows and clenches his jaw. 

“Excuse you, 521,666.”

“Not helping your case here, really. 500,000. Crowley, what the Hell man?”

“521,666, and that’s nothing Squirrel. Angel boy here had 40 mill riding him. I’d talk about the STDs… but well, he exploded. Leviathans, nasty infection. Want to get rid of those completely.”

“Crowley. You need to give those souls back.” Says Sam.

“Sorry darling, can’t.”

“Can’t or Won’t Mr. King a Hell.” Says Bobby, glass of scotch on the table and a book in his hands. Crowley rolls his eyes and with a wave the book is gone and the glass of scotch in its place, almost falling to the ground before Bobby catches it. “What the Hell?”

“Can’t. As in really, truly, can’t. Not that I would, but that’s beside the point. Now, Moose. Let go or I’ll-”

“Oh my god what!? You’ll what!?” Crowley sighs at Dean’s outcry and snaps. Three pieces of paper appear in front of Sam and he lets Crowley go to grab them.

“Maybe I’ll get more involved with my hunter group, train your replacements, and put you back on the list.” Sam squints and sits down, going through names and words, eyes flying back and forth as he tries to figure out what it is. He would, both Crowley and I know that. Crowley sits down next to his mother. “Open the basket mother. While Sam figures out what that is we might as well eat.” Cas stiffens at that. Bobby notices, and narrows his eyes. 

“No...”

“What Bobby?”

“Nothing Dean. Let’s... let’s just eat.” 

“I did bring pie.”

“You… brought pie?” Dean's eyes light up a bit at this. 

“What can I say, I remembered the night with the triplets and-”

“Ok Then! Pie! Yeah!” Crowley and I chuckle at Dean's interruption as Rowena puts it on plates. Bobby sits down across from Crowley, face hard and filled with unconfirmed answers.

“So, Crowley. What was this multigenerational contract about? If not souls?”

“It’s not much. They work for me, as hunters. If they get injured, I heal them of the ailments they don’t want.” Says Crowley, taking a piece of pie. It’s good pie, strawberry rhubarb. 

“Don’t want? Why would someone want an ailment?”

“Well, some find being a werewolf to be advantageous for hunting.”

“What?” Says Dean, his mouth half full of pie. “So we got hunters running around eating hearts now? That’s just great.”

“No. I heal them of that, just not the whole...furry bit. And close your mouth Squirrel, you’re making me lose what little appetite I possess.” Says Crowley as he puts the pie down, only a few bites out of it.

“Good.” Crowley rolls his eyes as both Cas and Dean speak at the same time.

“Have some pie Robert.” Says Rowena, pushing a plate toward the hunter across from her.

“Uh….thanks Rowena. So… what? Yer doin this outta the goodness a your own heart Crowley?”

“Did you not hear me say they work for me?”

“Doin what?”

“Their jobs. Not always the normal targets, yes, but I believe you’ll approve when I say the British Men of Letters are an extinct species.”

“Why? What was your beef with them?” Asks Bobby as he tentatively takes a bite of pie, forgetting for the moment that he’s Dead and nothing in there will affect him.

“They attacked me, unprovoked, twice, and broke a deal.”

“Now ya see, I find that a bit hard to swallow.” Says Bobby. I could laugh. There was a joke in there and Crowley would-

“It’s a bucket list...a menu.”

Everyone turns to Sam.

“What? Like with burgers?” Both Crowley and I sigh. No Dean...Just...no.

“No...like with...people...species.”

“What? No way Crowley got a taste for human meat just now. That’s not news for any demon.”

“You’re not wrong Squirrel.”

“Shut up Crowley. So...what’s so special about it?”

“We were on it...but we’re crossed out...”

“So? We’re dead. If he wanted to eat us it’s a bit past closing time at the old Winchester Bar and Grill.”

“Yeah… but Alpha’s are also on here. And Bobby.” Everyone stiffens except for Crowley...and Dean who still hasn’t quite got it. I sigh. I hadn’t noticed that he hadn’t crossed that name off. Of course he’d keep Bobby on there. It was too delicious a threat to hold over the brothers hardy.

“No Chew Toy. Ever since that kiss, I’ve wanted him insi-“

“Hold your tongue you pervert. I don’t care if you fucki-” 

“For you darling, I-”

“Both of you! Get a room. So… the list’s old?” Asks Dean. 

“But angels… and cherubs...and leviathans… are on it too.”

“So he’s a suicidal late idiot?”

“There are checkmarks next to some of them… like alpha...and cherub…” At this Castiel looks up. “Dean...Crowley is eating souls.” Theeeere we go. And heeere comes the explosion.

“Like Cas did?”

“I...I don’t think so Dean.”

“Don’t worry boys, you’re pretty little planet is safe.”

“You’re eating Souls Crowley!” Yells Dean. “How is that safe!?”

“They are mostly from Purgatory.” Cas looks at Crowley at this, conflicted just like Crowley and I thought he would be. On one hand they weren't human souls, on the other hand it would be harder to stop him. 

“Mostly!?”

“Well some are demons.”

“Some. Some. Great. Crowley!?! What the Hell man!?!”

“What? A girl can’t go on a fad diet? Feathers did it.”

“Yeah, and he exploded!”

“Well, I made some modifications. Souls first, leviathans last.”

“You can’t devour a leviathan Crowley, let alone an angel.” Says Sam.

“Well, Kerubial would say otherwise.” Cas starts forward. “Don’t get your feathers in a bunch. I’m not trying Cherub again, it made my smoke sting.”

“Pure grace should kill a demon. And if not I should kill you for what you did.” 

“Please, you’ve killed far more angels than I. And, well I wasn’t exactly just a demon at the time of that lunch date, or now...or for the past 190 years...or forever.” Everyone, including myself, if I could, stares as Crowley pauses with his glass almost to his lips. Seemed a theme this evening. “….What? You never wondered about the red smoke? I had theories...but I didn’t really have any good idears until I met my Dragoness in Purgatory.” I had to wonder if he was just bringing out the old tactic he used at cons trying to confuse his fans.

“Dragoness? The Hell does a dragon have to do with anything? Sure they are hard to kill but they aren’t that powerful.” Dean says and everyone but Cas seems confused. After a few second’s pause Cas asks a very telling question. 

“She wouldn’t give you her name?”

“And she’s the last thing on my list. She insisted.”

“You met a Dragon.”

“Yeah, we got that Cas.”

“No Dean...Crowley didn’t meet a dragon. He met a Dragon. He met one of the First Beasts. The Soul Writers.” Dean and Sam stare. 

“What the Hell Cas. How is there still shit we don’t know about?” I mean… yeah that was surprising, but considering Crowley didn’t know there were Dragons in Purgatory...

“Shush Chew Toy.”

“Stop talking to this thing like it’s here Crowley! It’s creepy.” Well, ow.

“Dean. You hurt Chew Toy’s feelings.”

“Fuck off Crowley, she ain’t real.” Ow. Jeez. Rude. I was gonna ask to say hi, but fuck him then. I’ll just talk to Bobby.

“I think she is Dean.” Says Sam with a glance at Bobby, “I think she’s a soul he keeps. Right Bobby?”

“Yep. He’s had her for what… going on 200 years now?” Fuck has it been that long? Fuck me.

“Later, if you’re good. And give or take 20 years.”

“Why? Why would you hang onto one soul?” Asks Dean. Rowena smiles into her glass. She may not remember the contract, but she remembered a few of her interactions with me. I feel a bit of pride, she likes me. Holy shit. ...holy shit. What the fuck did that say about me? Crowley smiles slightly at my reaction, letting my brief second of pride add to his own. 

“Many reasons Squirrel, none of which I wish to discuss. Very personal.”

“Crowley...what are you going to do with these souls?” Asks Sam nervously. Cas is barely holding it together at the door. Bobby is holding the plate with the mostly uneaten pie on it, and Dean is holding an empty one as if he could use it as a throwing star if needed. Sam is on a stool, just being wary.

“Destroy the leviathans. And some of the alphas. And maybe some angels.”

“Why?”

“Simple answer, job security.”

“And the complicated answer mister congeniality?” Says Bobby as he sets down the plate and goes to get some more scotch.

“Job security, scotch, and entertainment.”

“What do you mean job security, Crowley?” Asks Sam.

“With you gone, who is going to save the world when the next idiot lets the leviathans out? Or goes into an alternate dimension and brings back an archangel? The constant wins and losses while you were alive were tiring boys. I’m organizing, obtaining assets, and gaining power so I never have to ride another roller coaster called Winchester again. That’s it. I want to live my damned existence, do my job, and not be bothered by a world ending scenario every other year. I think a single billion or so souls out of 113 Billion is not a large amount. Besides, they make me feel.” Dean and Sam have backed away with Bobby, and Rowena has been shaking her head. Cas is still standing in front of the door.

“Feel what? Not exactly a complete sentence there genius.”

“No. Bobby. Like the blood-“

“You always were a smart moose Moose. They make me feel. I mean, there are other benefits.”

“Like what?” Asks Bobby, still wary.

“Nothing that matters up here.”

“We’ll see.” There is a flick of a switch and the lights change, and a devil’s trap appears around Crowley in black light. Rowena sets her own plate down and sighs, ready to jump up and run if needed, or restrain someone. Cas shifts nervously from foot to foot. Of course Bobby Singer’s heaven would still have traps.

“Bobby, turn it off.”

“What? Cas, why?” Asks Dean. Sam has a feeling, but he is quiet, hopeful. Poor thing. Crowely sighs and sets the empty glass of scotch down. 

“Well, this has been lovely, but I have a date with death in Samarra. So.”

“You ain’t goin anywhere you horny sonofabitch.”

“First, nice double entendre Bobby. Second, she’s sitting right there. Rude.”

“It’s alright dear.” Says Rowena. 

“No mother, you’re a witch first, a bitch second. They should get their titles right.”

“Bobby, turn it off.”

“Cas, why?” Asks Dean again.

“Because it will-”

“It’s fine Cas, I’m not Really going to put them back on the list. If I can’t stop an apocalypse I may need them. Now, Robert, I’m giving you one chance to turn that off.”

“Get bent Crowley.” Says Dean. Crowley sighs and stands and looks at his mother. 

“Shall we? I’m not really feeling welcomed right now.”

“Fine Fergus, another five or so years.” Rowena also gets up and goes to grab the picnic basket. 

“Leave it, they can have the pie. I’ll take the scotch and my list.” Of course he would. I had been mostly quiet during this whole interaction, just watching, listening. I had been around for a long time, not as long as half the things in this room, but I was content to listen to their interactions. I could understand why Dragoness loved stories, was willing to ‘die’ for an interesting end, or chapter, in hers. That’s all we have, stories. That’s all we are. The stories we leave behind for others to tell of us. So I watch, and absorb, sometimes think, occasionally comment. Crowley smiles at my thoughts and holds out his hand, and with a snap the bottle of scotch is in it and the list is in his pocket.

“Balls.”

Crowley looks about the room and steps out of the trap.

“BALLS.” Bobby curses as Crowley and Rowena move toward the exit. Crowley pauses at the door. I sigh. He is such a drama queen. I mean, it was amazingly funny, but he was cruel.

“Cas, I finally found my appetite after Dean’s pie took it. Usually I take ten or twenty, but since I’m raiding your pantry, I’ll settle for one.” Crowley takes out an empty jar, similar to the one I would be put into during ‘dates’ or where a bit of me was right now...in his other pocket. He shakes it. Cas is stock still. Expressionless. 

“Crowley, you sonuva-“ Crowley looks to the right and Dean flies against a wall. Rowena leaves the room, not wanting to see ‘her boys’ fight.

“Now, there are 50 to 70 billion choices if I’m correct, but I don’t really feel like walking that far. So eeny,” he points to the room to the right with the jar, “meeny,” he points to the room to the left, “or mo-” He’s about to point somewhere else when three voices pipe up.

“I’ll go.” Crowley raises a brow at the three martyrs. Sam, Bobby, and Cas. Dean can’t move. Crowley looks at Cas. 

“Really? I haven’t tried seraphim yet. Do you-“

“No, Crowley. Me. Take me.” Crowley smiles slightly but shakes his head. 

“No. Separating team moose and squirrel is just a bit worse than having you together. So. Sorry, you aren’t on the menu.”

“Crowley, shut your fat face an-.”

“Bobby-“

“Cas, you shut your gab too. I been up here for over 200 fucking years. I’m already on the list, apparently, so I’m earmarked for Hell. You aren’t Cas. You could actually help stop this still.”

“Really Robert, like I’m doing something any of you Wouldn’t if you thought it would keep the earth safe?”

“You’re doing this for yourself Crowley.” Says Sam in a hushed tone. 

“Yes, but keeping the earth safe is a nice bonus. So... Robert, Cas, who is going in the takeaway jar?”

“I ain’t going nowhere in no fucking jar.” Crowley blinks. 

“Your choice.” Crowley snaps and both the jar and the scotch vanish as he bursts out, filling the room with smoke. He leaves all the other souls back in his suit, except me, he keeps me with him, hidden in the smoke so there is no chance of an angel grabbing me. 

Heaven stings, him, his smoke, it hurts to be out of his suit and up here. I help a bit, not much, but a bit I think. The room is like a storm, red clouds moving quickly in slipstreams of wind, bits of white and pink flying around like bits of snow. 

“Bobby!”

“Idjit, let go!”

“Cas help me!”

“Sam, I-“

The smoke freezes, and then reverses. Moments later the room is empty, and turning white. Dean and Sam look around frantically. Sam at his hands that probably held Bobby’s moments before. Dean at the table that holds the pie, not because of the pie but because of how it falls to the ground as the table beneath it vanishes. Without it’s tenant, the room is losing cohesion.

Crowley straightens and moves his jaw around. 

“Old rotgut...aged 20 days. A bit of an improvement Robert. Now, give me a moment, I need to do some housing management. Evict some tenants.” There were two previously contracted souls next to me; they vanish, disintegrate with a thought. Cas flinches next to Crowley and Crowley looks up at him. “Senses a bit more fine tuned at home giraffe?” Cas shifts and clenches his jaw. 

“What did he do Cas? Is Bobby ok?” Asks Dean as he picks himself up from the floor. 

“He just...absorbed two souls. A...a Jared and a-“

“Toni.” Says Crowley as he moves Bobby next to me. “Chew Toy. Meet your new, perhaps permanent, roommate.”

“ _ Balls.” _

Yeah. Pretty much. Hey. Welcome to casa a la Crowley. Don’t worry, he can’t really eat you. Not a whole fresh soul. Not yet. Not without help.

“ _ What about you?” _

Bobby, I could be gone in an instant, should have been years ago. Just listen to me, feel. You’ll understand. I’m not gonna say it’ll be fine-

“Give him back Crowley!”

“ _ Idjit. Dean, for all-“ _

“Robert says, and I quote, ‘idjit.’ He’s fine. And he will continue to be fine, if you sit up here peacefully with your beer and harps, and Don’t Interfere!” Sam swallows and Dean looks furious, about ready to charge. “I’ll even bring him back in 5 years for you to talk to.”

“You’ll...let him out?”

“I said I’d bring him back up, not let him out to play. You can ask Cas if he is still there, apparently. Now, I really do have a date, so…Cas. Boys. Enjoy the pie Dean.” 

_ “Cheeky bastard.”  _ Crowley smiles as he turns to go, and once again pauses. 

“Now boys, I really don’t want to be another apocalypse, I only want to do my job. I just happen to be better at it than anyone else.”

……………………..

  
  


We walk out of the door to heaven with a flash, the sound of slamming behind us. Rowena sighs.

“Fergus, did ye really have to provoke them?”

“Mother, I saw the look in their eyes. They were ready to jump back in the game headfirst. At least now I have some insurance.”

_ “Yeah. Me you-“ _

“Now Robert. We are just getting acquainted on a more intimate level. Why not wait until I know a bit more about you, for us to fight like an old married couple?”

_ “Go shoot yourself- _ “

“Or I could have you do it...like you did to your father?” Silence. “That’s what I thought. I...My Robert. That’s quite a bit of anger. Do keep it coming.” 

“ _ You sick sonuva-“ _

“Witch. Now, I have a call to make.” Crowley takes out his phone and dials, then puts it on speaker. “Ranni. Finally find anything on Dragoness yet?”

“Just that a dragon did indeed help write the first contract. She apparently had a team help her test it. After that she wrote the crossroad commandments.”

“Pardon?”

“Buried away deep in an old archive. Five rules that cannot be broken when it comes to making deals.”

“I assume you wrote them down?” 

“Of course not. I memorized its location. Cabinet 30567ZA. Folder Q.” Crowley snaps and a piece of vellum appears in his hands. The ink is red and old and in a language I don’t know. Crowley does. 

‘One. Something must be exchanged. Two. If a soul is involved both parties must know. Three. The contract must be between a demon and at least one non-demon being for the power to warp reality to work. Four. Contacts must be sealed by a kiss, a signature, or both if the contract is personal to a specific demon. Five. All contracts will belong to the King of the Crossroads first and the King of Hell second.’

There is a seal at the bottom. One of the most complicated I have ever seen. It shines and shimmers despite there not being any magic flowing through it. I wonder…

“If that is her name, Chew Toy?” Yeah. I have no fucking clue how you would pronounce that. “I believe that is the point.”

_ “I ain’t never seen a sigil like that before.”  _ Oh Robert. You are in for some surprises next week. 

_ “Why? Is that the night Crowley bathes?” _

“No Robert, that is the monthly trip to Purgatory.”


	33. The Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which prey is found, and a pack is unwillingly formed.

Bobby sits on a stump looking between me, Crowley, and the 90 foot tall dragon. The Dragoness smiles, smoke curling from her mouth to show her happiness.

“Robert Singer. A pleasure to meet you. I believe I will enjoy greatly the stories you have for me.”

“I...Sure. But...If you'll forgive me, why are ya helping Crowley?”

“You mean besides the fact that we have a deal? That he is my friend? That he interests me? That he will destroy the leviathans in such a way that I may watch their despair as they are beaten by something they thought far inferior to them? That once he becomes powerful enough we will have a glorious battle? Or even that we both agree humans must be kept alive and safe to some degree for either of our desires to be reachable? You mean besides all that, Robert Singer?” There is silence for a moment as I chew my lip, trying not to laugh.

“Uh. Yeah?” Dragoness rumbles in happiness at the insistent question.

“It is a secret.” She turns to Crowley and leans her head down, her teeth shining. I wonder how a dragon keeps her teeth so nice, did she brush with trees? I shake away the thought as she speaks, not wanting to miss a word. “Now. King of Hell. I have a suggestion I urge you to consider today.”

“My ears temporarily belong to you Dragoness.”

“Hunt without me today. Find out what your new limits are. It will not do for you to lose me

one day and find yourself in unknown waters. Besides, I wish to talk to this hunter alone for a day or so. Bring your toy with you, then when you return take your new love interest so I may read in peace for a while. He may be useful to you.” 

“I am not helping that debu souruītingu fuck!” I look at Bobby, surprised. That was Not something they did in the show. I knew he had been to Japan, I had no idea he was fluent, and I had no idea what he just said, but it did Not sound nice. Crowley apparently knows what it means though, and he disagrees with at least some of it by the look on his face.

The forest shakes with laughter.

“Hijō ni yoi Robāto! I knew it would be a pleasure to talk to you the moment I felt your soul. Go Crowley, take your toy with you and return in a day or so for your two souls.” Bobby blinks.

“You’re trusting the King of Hell, the guy who is eating souls like popcorn, with yours?”

“He cannot destroy healthy souls unburdened by change, contract, or debilitating solitude. Not yet. However, we shall soon find out if I can. So, before we find out if I shall burn you away, let us talk, Robert Singer. Let free your burdens to me so I may rejoice in your story.” Bobby looks a tad overwhelmed at this. Trying to decide if he should push on the matter of souls and burning away, or talk to the behemoth in front of him. The dragon rumbles, and Bobby decides.

“Uhm, I was born at a very young age? Whadya want from me?”

“Let us start with your deepest problems and your highest accomplishments. I-” Crowley walks away and with a wave I am walking beside him. The pine needles of the forest seem to absorb the sound of the footsteps.

“Crowley, as much as I enjoy walking with my own two feet, there are things here that will fucking eat me.”

“Do you have a problem with being bait?” 

“Not if you give me a knife.”

“It appears I forgot to bring one.”

“Liar. You have two. You always have two.”

“I forgot to bring You one.”

“Liar. You-”

“Quiet. Someone is joining us.” I hear nothing, but I’m human. Soon from the right is a growl. I stop walking but Crowley pulls me forward with a thought. I swallow and continue. The growling starts to echo around us.

“Crowley…”

“There are only five.”

“Yeah….five What?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean y-” There is a crashing behind us and a tree falls over. At this we both turn to see what is happening. The growling still echoes everywhere but it is becoming apparent that it’s just one thing...and it’s big. Fucking big. 

It’s red brown scales don’t glisten like Dragoness’s. It’s head is flatter and more bull shaped, although its nose and mouth look like that of a lion. It has a few spikes on its back and it looks armored there. 

And it's big. Like fucking run big. 

And I know what it is.

“Crowley. Run.”

“I don’t-”

“Crowley. It’s a tarrasque. Run.” I grab his arm, I don’t care if he tortures me for eternity over this, you run from a tarrasque. Unless you’re a level 20 Spellsword in D&D, you fucking run from a tarrasque. 

So I fucking run. And dear merciful god, Crowley runs with me. However, he doesn’t bamf us away, he runs. Which means he’s considering something. Because he doesn’t run run.

“And you are saying, you know what this is? And why I’m running from it?”

“You know how leviathans eat meat? Well tarrasque just eat everything. As in you want to prepare to fight a leviathan? Fight this. This will eat humans, cows, herds of cows, souls, rocks, houses, buildings, towns-” He snaps and my form shrinks into a ball and flies into the waiting smoke. I keep talking.

_ “-Cities. States. Crowley this thing isn’t smart like a leviathan, it doesn’t do portion control. This isn’t something a witch made. If you think you’re half ready to fight a leviathan, try it. Otherwise, fucking bounce!”  _

“Yes, but how do you kill it?” I’m too scared and full of energy to think like I normally do here so…

_ “Ya fucking don’t!” _

“Chew Toy.” 

_ “Fine fine… this one looks like a baby so-” _

“That’s a baby?”

_ “It has to be. Probably. Stories about it range from the size of a hippo to the size of a skyscraper. So either this is a baby, or people exaggerate. Both are possible. If it’s a baby it’s immunity to magic might not have kicked in.” _

“Pardon?”

_ “Look, D&D gets half its monsters from legends and they do in fucking depth research and THEN decide if they want to change things to make it more interesting. Some lore says there is only ever one of these because it is so big. It’s sometimes called the century beast because it eats so fucking much in the MONTH it’s awake that it sleeps for a hundred years! I am not a hunter! I do NOT have facts! You want facts, get Bobby! Although these things HAD to be fucking extinct since at least the dark ages, so maybe you need to talk to Dragoness!” _

“How do I kill it?”

_ “Hit it, with magical weapons, probably under it, not on the back. Or… get eaten and kill it from inside.” _

“What? You expect me to-”

_ “If a bigger one shows up, Hell yes! What part of ‘size of a skyscraper’ do you not understand?”  _

Purgatory is fucking weird as all get out to me. Things are flesh and bone until either they ‘die’ and are eaten, or their body is destroyed. Then they bamf to some other spot to start again. Eternal war. If you wanted to get a soul, you had to kill the thing, destroy its body, and then grab whatever coalesces from the corpse. Or use some magic or power to make their soul appear after it died. Or eat the entire body. Quickly. 

Not only could Crowley Not do that last one, it wasn’t his style. And the tarrasque is fucking big.

And it is getting quite close. As in ground shaking cloud. 

And I can’t stress this enough; it’s fucking BIG. I did not see all of it from below the tree line. We must have fucking Walked over it as it was sleeping. This entire time talking, it spent standing up. 

So no. Not a baby. Not a fucking baby. Fucking run!

“Shut up Chew Toy!” Situation kinda warrants it! You are not PHYSICALLY big enough to kill that. At least I’m back to thinking how I normally think here, but that won’t mean much if You don’t BAMF the FUCK AWAY. You are NOT powerful enough to fight that. 

Crowley does not respond. He snaps. There is a roar from behind us and the sound of a lot more breaking trees than a moment ago. 

It had tripped. 

“That was Meant to break its leg.” A for effort! Try again in a YEAR or TEN. 

He stops and turns to look at the thing. Memorizing it. Looking for weaknesses. 

And then we are gone.

We step out near a stream and I fucking proceed to have a breakdown. A tarrasque. A fucking tarrasque. What was next? A catoblepas? A piasa? A manticore? A tengu? Oh dear god are Rocs a thing? Which ones are in the fae lands and which are here?

“All of them.” How? “Ask the Dragoness. Not me.” You still have an entire fucking day or two Crowley. “And I will be using that to fill my quota, not talk about inanities with my toys.” Ow. I thought I was Chew Toy, not just a toy. I’m fucking hurt Crowley. “When did you start to get so...familiar.” Yeah, my manner of speech probably got more relaxed during I dunno...the last 9 decades! You want erudite talks? Ask me when you aren’t being chased by things that shouldn’t be able to move under their own weight! 

Pain wracks through me, like my toes are being cut off, but I don’t have toes right now, so somehow it’s even worse. The message is clear though, quiet small thoughts unless he asks. He dusts himself off and stands still. Listening. He turns left and begins to walk. 

If you want to find something to fight here, you have to walk. Teleporting around got you nothing in a place with few landmarks, where attempts to build things always fail. There are no gathering places. You did not need to eat here, there is, usually, no hunger. So there are no watering holes. You do not need to sleep, so there are no hovels or caves.

“Yes, but some, like to eat in privacy…” That is true. So...have you found any caves? Crowley looks to the right. Above the tree line there is a mountain, snow topped and pointy. 

We are gone, and we are there. 

The trees are now on a slant, the floor beneath them at an angle while they still stand tall. It’s an odd view, one I enjoy. Crowley however is rather focused. He is looking for a cave. It won’t be here, not likely. He needs to be looking for rocky outcrops, cliff faces, or preferably a lake that has receded over time, moved away from the mountain. Following small creeks and rivulets would help.

“How, no why, do you know this?” I like rocks. Try over to your right, along the mountain. We were at a river a moment ago, if you can find where it comes from up here, there is more likely to be a cave. 

……………………………...

I was right. It took three hours, but I was right. The mouth is huge, which is good, I don’t like…Didn’t like while I was flesh and bone, tight spaces in the earth. Creeped me right the fuck out. Ever since that fucking comic. Don’t read Japanese comics. Not while you’re alive at least. 

“Why? You find them more terrifying than me?” Fucking Hell yes, when I was alive that shit scared the crap out of me and I love horror. Now, I’m dead and with the King of Hell whose job it is to deal with spirits, who kills and Eats monsters, can teleport, and has a dragon for a friend, and oh...owns my soul! I’m fucking peachy. So no, not scared of much. That Tarrasque though...that would have Sucked. I have no clue if it eats souls and I Do not want to find out what that feels like. 

“So I should leave you with a tarrasque to torture you is what I am hearing?” Sure….in 700 years when people finding out how the contract works doesn’t matter. I think I have a bit of time. And that’s if you don’t kill them all, the tarrasques I mean. “True, I could leave one alive though, just for you.” I am nowhere near important enough for that. That tarrasque...could have 3,000 plus souls sitting in its gut depending on what it eats. You're not gonna waste that on me.

“No, but I could send you down to find out.” Sure, why the fuck not? How you gonna get me back? “You’re mine. Your soul is where I want it to be.” Yeah, barring other people’s magic and powers sometimes. But, fine. Let’s hope that works. Go get it after you have Dragoness with you again. It’ll either work or you’ll kill it and I’ll be out. “I’ll wait a month. Let you marinate.” One, gross. Two, you’re too busy. “True.” 

We reach the mouth, and there is growling and yellow eyes. Werewolves. A pack. A large pack. 

“Let’s get to work darling.” At the words ten rush out at once, claws sharp and fur starting to sprout on their backs. Some had been here a long time, they were starting to get more animalistic. Those are the ones that rush up, attacking like wolves and surrounding their prey. 

Crowley waves a hand and eight are flung against a cave wall, knocked out instantly. The remaining two attempt to slow down but with a twist of a hand their necks crack and they slide to a stop, and from the echoing of the sound to the right, the other 8 had been killed by that motion as well. He snaps and all the bodies seem to deflate, then explode. Whitish grey light is mixed in with the blood and bone that shoots outward. Crowley steps forward and flies out like a red storm with a purpose. He moves through each of the greyish miasmas of light as they try to coalesce and reform into the souls they once were, but he doesn’t let them. They are swept along in fragments that are pulled apart by the storm, and they will be kept apart as long as he concentrates on it, just a bit. 

A few of the remaining werewolves rush the smoke, attacking it instinctually, two however are running towards his body. Crowley bowls them over, knocking them down as he finishes his collecting. One falls against a rock and doesn’t move again, another tumbles completely out of the cave. As soon as he is back in his body he snaps and both are dead. 

The growling grows louder. Twelve more pairs of eyes are now glowing in the darkness. I’m wondering...Dragoness said to test his power...would he? He looks down at his hand, contemplating my thought and then looks back up at the pack. He snaps…

There are fifteen thuds as bodies hit the floor, and another eighteen squelching explosions as red bits rain down. Crowley steps back a bit, so his suit doesn’t get covered in werewolf, and then once again flies out to collect his prize. 

He flies around, me in tow, collecting souls like a child collects fireflies. He is nearing the last one when there is a sound.

“...Crowley?” The voice comes from the back of the cave as we swirl through the air. I don’t recognize it, and neither does Crowley. He speeds up his collecting and rushes back to his body. “It… is Crowley right?” Crowley stands up and dusts himself off, looking into the darkness. A tall man comes out, thin and wiry. Brown-grey hair sits shaggily on his head and slowly runs down into a scruff of a beard. He looks old, older than most werewolves. And he is wearing flannel. 

“Crowley, King of Hell? Saved the world? Friend of Sam and Dean?” Crowley is a bit surprised, but hides it as usual with fake feigned interest.

“And you are?”

“Damien. I was a hunter with them before I got bit.” Oh. Ohhhhh. Garth. 

“Ah, Damien. And you weren’t out fighting here because?”

“I don’t like to. Not often anway, besides I have my hands full.” 

“With what?” Damien swallows, but goes back into the darkness and there is whispering. Crowley puts his hands in his pockets and waits, head cocked, wondering what will happen, and if he’s going to kill them too. Damien returns holding a small hand. Oh… a very small hand. Oh no. No. 

The girl is young and wearing a pink dress, a very old style pink dress. Emperor cut, with lace. She is barefoot, and has a doll, as in two sticks tied together with hair and a piece of cloth wrapped around the bottom. Crowley raises a brow. Damien leads her forward.

“Lily, it’s fine. There isn’t anymore fighting, and this man, he won’ hurt us.” Oh...oh no. No. The girl is only seven, Crowley had no interest in such a soul, it had barely begun to find out who it was before it died...I hoped that still mattered for what he was doing… please let it still matter. Please.

“It doesn’t.” No. No. Please Crowley. Just...

“What?”

“Apologies, talking to a friend about what I’m going to do with you… I heard you had a family? Where are they?”

“They...uhm. They have a hiding place. I got caught by these guys.”

“Really, do tell?”

“I was out on a walk, and they grabbed me from behind. Said they needed all the help they could get. Something was out here killing monsters en mass. I suppose that’s you?”

“I suppose, you're right.” Crowley says a bit mockingly and takes a step forward. Damian stands tall, unafraid, stupid. Run! No, don’t run. Don’t turn your back. Plead. Crowley, Crowley, what can they do to convince you to spare them? What can I do? Crowley?!

He doesn’t answer.

“I jus don’t see the point of the King of Hell doin this. Are you blowing off steam?”

“No, I’m acquiring it.” Another step, and another. 

“I...I don get it?”

“Really? It’s been over 6 years and no one, not one of you, has noticed that the monsters I kill don’t come back?” Damien freezes and pushes Lily behind him. 

“Some of the pack hasn’t come back yet...And that’s because…”

“I got hooked on a new fad diet. All the rage in San Francisco.” Damien finally starts to back away.

“Look. Take me. Not her. Let her go-”

“Why would I even consider doing that? With you two I have an even thirty. A well rounded meal that’s so much easier to keep track of.” Oh god Crowley, no. Not now. No word play now. Just stop. I’ll. I’ll void my contract, I’ll-

“Because I can give you pack movements!” At this Crowley pauses. He stops and looks at Damien, waiting patiently. Damien swallows. “The werewolf packs migrate, just like regular wolves. They usually follow a pattern. I can tell you where they will be if you leave me and mine alone.” Crowley. It’ll speed up things. Make this easier. And you have to leave 10,000 anyway… protect this group and you’ll have allies who can blend in with packs and send you fucking door dash.

“No.” My heart sinks and Damien starts to growl, ready to go down fighting, give Lilly some time. “I’m the King of Hell, I require a bit more than that to spare a life. So... let’s make our deal a bit more substantial.” Oh thank fucking god. Damien relaxes, just a bit.

“I already have one werewolf working for me. Join us, pack Crowley, packs are named after the alpha, aren’t they?” Damien nods slowly, warily. “Join pack Crowley and infiltrate other packs. Find them and start fights between packs and other monsters and I’ll...do clean up.”

“And in return?”

“In return you’ll be the only pack left.” 

“...That’s a lot of monsters to kill Crowley...years worth of work.”

“Keep you from dying of boredom, or me. Pack Crowley offers other benefits too. However, you'll have to move.” 

“Why? And to where?”

“My base of operations here.”

“You… you managed to build something?”

“No, it’s just a location, but it is well protected. All of you will need to be approved by my partner of course.” Damien is silent, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “If you don’t, well, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars.

“Go to jail…”

“Exactly. Deal?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I love that answer.”

A day later five werewolves and a demon walk up to a dragon’s den in what must be a set up for a joke. Dragoness however, is nowhere to be seen. Bobby, Dan, and Bernard are sitting on stumps though. They stand as Crowley comes leading some fairly human and calm looking souls toward them. Crowley is Very concerned about that, what Bobby might have told them.

“What in the Hell-” Bobby does not get to finish that thought.

“Pack Crowley, meet your newest members.”

“What? I ain’t part of no fuckin Pack Crowley.” 

“You’re right Robert, you are not. You’re mine.”

“Bobby?”

“Damien? What the Hell are you doin here?” Damien lets go of his wife’s hand and rushes toward Bobby who braces for, but allows, the hug.

“I could say the same for you! C’mere you ol coot!” Bobby shrugs off the happy werewolf and holds him at arms length.

“Who you callin old you old dog! You look like you lasted longer’n me!” 

“As touching as this reunion is, I-” There is a crashing sound as a tree nearby breaks. We had been hearing the sound for some time but not this close. Crowley frowns and looks to Bobby. “Tarrasque?”

“A what? No, the fucking dragon is clearing a place to land. She decided she was gettin tired of breaking trees every time she came back from stretchin’ her wings.”

“What?” Damien looks very confused. “I fought a dragon before but, that didn’t have no fucking wings.”

“Yeah well, there’s some shit older’n shit in here.”

“I do hope that delightful turn of phrase was referring to me Robert Singer.” Dragoness comes into view pushing some rather large trees with her head. 

“Mary mother of-”

“Holy Hell!”

“Run!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

Damien’s family has the most reasonable reaction to a dragon anyone could have, a few don’t even say anything, they just turn to run...but Crowley snaps his fingers and they all freeze.

“She...is my partner. Dragoness, meet the newest members of Pack Crowley; aka my hunters and your story tellers.”

“Delightful. I suppose you did not explain to them beforehand that I was, in fact, a dragon?”

“Must have slipped my mind.”

“How wonderful. Worry not, werewolf flesh is stringy, and more importantly, I do not destroy souls for food as my friend does.” She nods and Crowley releases the five werewolves.

“Like I said, perks. You want protection from other packs, when you’re not working for me? Here, you now have a hovel to howl in and call your own.” Damien blinks and looks at Dragoness. He looks like a deer in headlights.

“Hello hunter wolf, how long have you been in Purgatory?”

“At least a hundred years….I think. Don’t really know.”

“Long enough then. Sit, bring your family here.”

“And I know you’re not just gonna eat us cause…”

“I find that people have trouble telling me stories after I eat them. I tried it once, there was more screaming than story.” 

“As fascinating as this is… I believe we had an agreement?”

“Yes, but what did you find out, King of Hell?”

“That I cannot yet kill a tarassque.” Dragoness blinks, and laughs.

“G’honnu is awake! Ah, I knew I heard his leaden feet!”

“That thing, has a name?” Yeah, I didn’t think it was intelligent either Crowley.

“It has many, that is what we call it. But I suppose you want my help?” The bulk of the scaled behemoth in front of us vibrates as Dragoness purrs in pleasure. I can’t imagine her scale, her sheer bulk, if she is as big as she says. But she could have been lying, of course she has no reason to, except it’d be amusing. Crowley looks up at the rumbling figure and nods.

“I had been considering that.” 

“Very well.” Dragoness, stands and stretches, shaking herself, her loose skin wiggling and causing spines to move like a wave on her back. “ First, let us find out if I destroy untainted souls.”

“What is going on?!” The scene pauses as Damien steps back between his family and the rest of the group. He has been silent, taking in information, being stunned at the scene before him. “First you say you don’t eat souls, then you say you’re gonna find out if you can? That seems a bit contradictory to me here!”

“Not you son. Me.” Damien looks at Bobby with shock as he stands, hands in pockets and a blank face that speaks of resignation. 

“Why?” 

Bobby shrugs. 

“It was me or Cas, Damien. I figured I’d had a good run and Cas is a bit more useful than me right now, being able to, ya know, actually go to Earth.” 

“But Bobby I jes-” There is a snap and Bobby vanishes, shrinking to a white point of light. He floats towards Crowley and smoke pours out and grabs him, pulling him into his prison. Damien swallows his words as Crowley glances his way. Crowley turns his eyes Dragoness, eyes that are filled with anger and uncertainty. 

“I don’t want him telling anyone anything he shouldn’t.” The Dragoness grins.

“He won’t. We made a deal, he and I, while you were gone.” Crowley immediately perks up at this. He continues the conversation, casually as he painfully parses Bobby’s soul to find the truth.

“Oh? Getting back into the business? Care to come back to work for me?”

“I believe my visage would scare most mortals from ever making a deal. Now... Try not to burn your tongue.” She rears back her head and breathes out. The fire is still white, but it crackles with lightning just as it does every time she does this. She stops breathing but the fire remains in the air, shrinking into the glowing orb that is her soul... birthed from fire it appears, crackling and beautiful as ever. She reaches for it and holds it a moment before passing it to Crowley. It shrinks in her hand and with a push floats towards the King of Hell. He holds it, and nods to Dragoness.

“Bon’ appetit.” The Dragoness chuckles at the comment and his snark as he rushes out for the hundredth time these two days to pull his ‘power booster’ home. 

“ _ Balls.”  _ This indeed may hurt.

The fire seems to encompass half the space, despite its seeming infinite before. She burns brightly and his entire body seems to be immersed in magic. Crowley rushes to put himself between us and the fiery star but it’s too late. 

It burns, and it burns badly.


	34. The Soul Writers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a monster is killed, and truths revealed.
> 
> This is my Least favorite chapter, please let me know if you have opinions or suggestions on how you'd improve it!

I have felt pain from salt, sulfur, acid, water, grease, frost, and worse. I have felt burns from small fires and from focused flames. I have been burned in my body and in my soul more ways than I can count.

This. This is different. I can’t even describe how, just that it feels like pure energy licking at my heels. An indefinite amount of tension with each tongue of fire. As if the potential for something is there, always almost there, hinting at things...but not quite ever happening. The pain from the fire is immense in what it has to offer, but is only small now. Where it touches it burns fiercely, but the touches are like caresses, they are brief and far apart.

I am alive however, some of the others are as well… many are not.

He had thirteen souls with him. Three and one third remained. Bobby, the piece of one he had a current contract with, the only other pure human soul...and myself. 

_ “This ain’t so bad.”  _ Good for you Bobby, I have a feeling the other contracted soul is feeling what I am, and the only reason we are both here, is because Crowley really wants us to be. 

“I made an attempt to not destroy the human souls, as promised Robert Singer, but those who had already started to break, they are gone.” Oh. Ok So I was right about that...What did that mean for me? “It means he likes you Chew Toy, or you still wish to live, or perhaps something else.”

“How, how are you not insane right now?” Damien’s voice echoes through the clearing. Crowley looks at Damien calmly as the hunter werewolf looks at the dragon sitting calmly in the clearing.

“I shall explain as soon as the king and his entourage are on their way. Are you satisfied, King of Hell? Shall we destroy a tarasque tonight?” Crowley doesn’t respond, he just vanishes.

He reappears where we last saw the tarrasque. There are more broken trees, and a few rocks are missing.

_ “Ah, he has begun eating rocks to aid digestion.” _

_ “That aint a rock, that’s a goddamn boulder.”  _

Crowley looks around at the mangled trees and begins following the path they have made.They lie broken and twisted like old bones of the earth. He walks between them as if they are not giants who have been laid low by something big enough to be a town. There is silence for a bit as each of us muse upon the recent happenings, Crowley privy to almost everyone’s thoughts. The one who still keeps their own mind private is the one who breaks the quiet in the sea of souls. 

_ “So, King of Hell. I see you found my old rules, that I signed with my sigil?”  _ Crowley tenses as Dragoness takes in all he has done since she last saw him, just like he did Bobby. I was trying not to pry. Trying to keep myself to myself as well. 

It's the one thing Crowley did not like about this. She could read him easily, whether or not he wanted it, and he is, as of yet, unable to read her. We can all feel a brief hint of dissatisfaction before his emotions are once again hidden from us, but that second is enough. 

“ _ One day King of Hell, one day. For now, let us converse on other things. So, what do you think of my rules?” _

“They were most definitely not made by a demon. They are all contrary to making deals.”

_ “Yes, that is their point. What challenge would it be if you could make a deal with an unaware soul?”  _

“Either way, what I don’t understand is why you would put the power to affect every single contract in a piece of paper.”

_ “Because it does not. That is a record of my decision.” _

_ “What? The Hell you tryin to say? If you die then those rules are gone?” _

_ “No Robert Singer. That decision was one I made, with all my being, and so it is written on my soul.” _

_ “What, so you can just change the fabric of reality when you want?” _

_ “No, but I can add to it until there is no more room for words. And when that happens, I become law. I will fade into the fabric of reality with my choices and return from whence I came. He did not create dragon souls as he did yours, he took the magic that he put into reality, and gave it the spark of life. That is the only way a dragon can die, and it is why I do not worry about the King of Hell having my soul.” _

Everyone else is silent, but as it is wont to my mind immediately begins pondering things. By what she just said, cosmic power aside, her son could decide to have a new physical body and he would, or decide to look like a human, and he would. 

_ “Yes...and no. A body is a body. He could make a new one with magic if he so wished, but he could not decide to have his old one back. That one is gone. Eaten. We cannot turn back time or undo other’s decisions, we can only add our own. If something is, we cannot change it, we can only make new things. There is little room left for such decisions now. _ ”

“So, what decisions have you made?” A chuckle echoes in the infinitely confining space that is our current home. 

_ “That is the most personal question you can ask a dragon King of Hell. Since we are friends and allies I shall tell you that in my life I have made 7 decisions. One was the deal with you. That I should allow my soul to be held by another in such a way that they could use it to increase their potency.” _

How many do you get? That seems an awful lot of power.

_ “It depends on the enormity of the decision Chew Toy, and how much it impacts the world. One dragon, my father, decided that he wanted flowers that bloomed in the snow. It was a small decision compared to my mother and brother. She decided humans should be able to wield magic. My brother, he decided that the world should have symbols that are absolute in their effect on certain things, such as demon traps. Both, no longer exist. They gave their lives for their additions to the world, such was their conviction that they would make it a more interesting place.” _

There is silence. All I can think is that God wanted to collaborate.

_ “Once you create, and then your creations create, what is the next step but to create together? He did not give this gift lightly and the rules that come with it are great. Our biggest rule, one that cannot be broken, is that no decision can disrupt what already is. Taking things away or changing them, often does that, but adding things that can be discovered slowly, it is a beautiful thing to watch. A complicated rule, and hard to explain. Of course he always retains the right to undo any decisions we make, although he has yet to do so. He gave us the smallest nib of his pen, and we treasure it and use it with care.” _

And Crowley fucking has that in his gut. Woo.

Crowley walks in silence absorbing this information, and our opinions on it. If dragons were just like normal beings, could have children, would the children be able to do this? 

_ “Dragons may have children in one way, by deciding to. It is a big decision, to create life, and it was one of my seven. Most dragons do so together, to lessen the cost. My parents wanted two children however, thus rendering that little trick obsolete. My mother made three decisions in her life, and my brother and I were one.” _

Ok wow. I mean, I always thought having a kid was a big decision, but that was a new perspective. After all… this was enormous power for any one being to wield. It was too much...but she was right. There isn’t much room to add things anymore.

_ “Why do you think we left? We wrote a few lines, and now we watch their result. I wish to watch for as long as I can, so I will make no more big decisions. For that scale, we get but three, and I have made two. One was to impart some of my ability to demons on the condition they make a deal. That was the caveat, immense power...but only if. It was amusing to give something like that to things that will try to use it only to their advantage. What a delicious thing to watch.” _

Ooooooh boy.

_ “That’s a shit thing to do.” _

_ “No Robert Singer, that was an interesting thing to do. After all, you regained the use of your legs, and then forced the demon out of the contract. That was fun to watch.” _

Crowley tenses; that was one of his failures, it was a risk in part of the game he played. He had said to Bobby’s face that he wouldn’t have it any other way than Bobby trying to stop him. That Dragoness had seen it...

I am thinking of other things though. By this new piece of information, one of her decisions was to allow demons to make deals, one was her son, and one was her deal with Crowley. So that left four that we had no fucking clue what she did…. Unless one was to put the rules on the deals, in which case there were three left… Oh boy. This is like sitting next to a minor deity, and it is painful.

_ “Chew Toy, humans have created more things than dragons have dreamed of. You created music, delicious foods, dance, art, and those are the good things. After all a human invented murder. Killing for something other than a base need or war.” _

The sound of leaves in wind fills the air as we all contemplate Dragoness’s ready reverence for the human race. Crowley walks through the graveyard of toppled trees that show the path his quarry had taken. He is keeping his thoughts to himself. The rest of us are overwhelmed by this information this dragon has shared. The amount of power, the fact that there is a co-writer of reality here? It makes my ME hurt. 

Bobby is silent. Trying to decide if he should be angry. It sounded like half the decisions made were done eons ago. It also sounded like they couldn’t really affect ‘current events’ on a big scale. Could they decide to make a demon killing gun? Probably not, since it wasn’t new… Still...How much had they changed things? How...how many dragons were there? These thoughts swirl between all of us until...

_ “Since our creation there have been 42 of us. Today there are 12. Four of those decided to give up half their power to become fae, thinking smaller magics would make the world more interesting.” _

Right the fae lands. I had a question about that...if I can just remember...Right Right. How are all monsters here? Even the ones from the fae lands?

_ “Chew Toy, that land and the earth used to be one. The moment you monkeys discovered and started using iron with frequency? The courts banded together and made a home elsewhere. Similar, but alien, and without iron. I wandered there for a century or two, but while the fae create beautiful things, they only create beautiful things. Even their darkness had elegance. It grew tiresome. Humans stumble and create as many good things as bad, it is far more interesting to watch. The dragons that became fae did not think through their decision well enough. That is a very big danger. Five of us have died because of such things. We may be powerful, but we are not infallible.” _

“And what did they decide?”

_ “I shall not tell of their failures. They are theirs and not mine to tell. Besides King of Hell, can you not hear the loud snores?” _

“I can, but your exposition was far more interesting.”

_ “More so than the souls I can sense?” _ At this there is silence except for the sound of his footsteps. Everyone can feel Crowley’s interest however, it is too big to contain. 

“How many?”

_ “That is for you to discover.” _

“Oh no, that is for Chew Toy to discover.” Aw fuck.

I am pushed out onto the ground, a soul with no physical body forming around me yet. It takes a bit for something that doesn’t belong here to make a body. It’s a Weird fucking experience. You start intangible as an orb, then a soul that looks Like a body, and within seconds you have a slight shell that can just let you touch things. Then it just... Slowly becomes more solid...but I believe the tarrasque doesn’t really care.

We crest a hill and below...is an eye. It’s closed. It’s bigger than a house. It’s on a head bigger than a tacky Hollywood mansion. We are nearly blown back by the exhale of air as it snores and as I try to regain my balance I’m just…pushed forward.

As I fall down and twist in the air, past the crater edge, I can see his amused smile.

“Fuck you Crowley!”

“After this...only if you shower.”

I land with a slight thud below its eye and the snores stop. I freeze. I am just a bit bigger than a crumb. If I don’t move, perhaps it won’t notice me. It inhales once and stops. Its eye opens, slowly, then its mouth. It inhales, and yawns. Ok, yawn is fine.

Then it licks its lips.

It is fucking disgusting. The tongue is thankfully just a tongue, not spined or ridged or whatever. It’s still grossly slimy. However when I get past that I am not swallowed, I just fall and slide. It’s that fucking big.

I land in a tangle of limbs, ones not my own. The tarrasque had been busy. However, that is not what is interesting. What is interesting is the myriad of glowing souls staring at me. I can’t count them. Some are fresh, some are old, and some are so faded I think they have forgotten what they are. A few are barely wisps of memory. The ones that can, stare at me with hollow eyes and then begin to slowly move. Some just move back and forth, some seem to wander… and some come toward me. Those are the ones that I do Not fucking like. I start to back away, into sticky flesh that I have a feeling is acid covered and I am super thankful I don’t have a full body.

“Annnny fucking time now. Crowley. Crowley!” The one closest to me is a vampire, still tangible, prevented from fleeing or reforming by whatever the hell the tarrasque’s stomach is. Either way, it’s not happy. It’s teeth are as sharp as it’s nails as they both slice into me. It hurts, but more importantly the little bit of false blood this world had started forming for me in my brief state of physicality...hits the living floor beneath me. And the floor Writhes. Limbs twitch and eyes open. I trip and fall on a back of something, and as I turn to stand I watch as the soul of the vampire, busy licking its claws, is Pulled into the melting bodies beneath it. Arms reach up and grab at it, mouths attach at hundreds of points, and it is buried in living flesh. A hand reaches for my ankle, another for my wrist that is slowly leaking red, and I gasp as the hand made of bone touches my fading skin.

I pull myself up by something, a tree branch attached to a rock, and run, tripping over and falling into bodies. Some are half melted, some are whole, some are bones. They move in a wave, the drops of my blood and fall of my feet awakening the very ground the arms reach out after me. Each step is a nightmare. A hand with claws grabs my ankle and I pull away, trip and land on something squishy. The warmness is not at all comforting, and the stabbing pain is more understandable right now. Somehow I Know that someone elses broken rib is pushing into my arm. I feel the warmth beneath my hand move and a lung inflate. The head above the torso my hand is currently in looks up at me, eyeless and broken, mouth open and speaking words that I don’t stay to listen to. I scream and pull away, turning from the mass of living flesh and horror. I run, 

I slam into a tree, salvation, and start to climb, but naked flesh behind me rises up at my presence. The bodies are melted together, moving in lurches as they all try to act like the individual beings they once were. I don’t have time, I run. I run in darkness. I cannot see the floor, there is no light except for the glowing souls. I am starting to glow slightly myself, my form losing its tangible state. That will be better than this. I don’t know how long I’ve been running and dodging physical and incorporeal hands. Thankfully you don’t tire here. Not physically. Mentally and emotionally though…

“Crowley! Crowley! Your chew toy is getting fucking ruined!”

I look at the white dots in the distance, glowing and floating. I have no where to run to so I make one my goal. It floats, and as I get closer I realize it is a group of souls, not one. They huddle together on a rock, a Rock! I scramble towards it, towards solid ground in a sea of acid and flesh. The rock looms, ever closer, but the chattering and squelching and cracking of bones behind me is closer. I won’t make it in time. The figures on the rock watch me, unmoved and staring at something they probably went through ages ago. I don’t want to go through this, even if it’s only for an hour. I don’t know what these, this, flesh behind me wants

“Crowley! Fucking get me the fucking Hell out of this fuc-” I am standing about forty feet away running on solid ground in daylight. “-king place!” I skid to a stop and put my hands on my knees.

“Nice trip?”

“NO! Gross. Looking at me, touching, Wet. So so so gross and so-” He doesn’t wait, he just snaps again and cleans me off, and then once more to send me back into the red prison. It’s still gross. Still feel gross. I don’t even have a body and it feels gross. Crowley ignores me and the things I’m feeling and takes a look at how many souls I saw. It was a lot. Like-

“Another 40,000.” Ok that might be a bit much. But, yeah, a lot. Let’s go kill it so it can’t do that to anything ever. Not existing would be preferable to what I saw. Covered in goop. Watching your body be digested as you float. Slowly forgetting yourself. Maybe they’d heal over time, but that did not look fun. Let’s kill a fucking tarasque.

“I couldn’t agree more Chew Toy, let’s play some scales.”

_ “And how are you gonna do that princess? It’s bigger’n your ego.” _

“Robert, nothing is bigger than that, but…” Crowley and Co. are suddenly standing above the tarrasque again. He snaps, nothing happens. Direct magic resistance confirmed. Whether demon powers counted strictly as magic….ehhhh, a dragon did though. I just thank God that the contract still worked to pull me out. Either way the tarrasque isn’t having any of Crowley’s attempts to affect it. Crowley looks down at the still snoring form and withdraws his daggers. “It’s not about the size, it’s how you use it.” He jumps down and lands on the face above the eye. It flutters open and Crowley immediately teleports into the middle and slams the angel blade down. His arm plunges halfway into the iris and the resulting screech of pain is very satisfying. The head thrashes and throws Crowley off, or it would, if Crowley were still there. 

He’s standing about 30 feet away, waiting for the beast to stand.

_ “Idjit! Run!” _

“...Nah.” It takes a full 20 seconds for the thing to stand, but when it does it screeches and looks around for the ant that blinded it. 

“Hello darling.” The tarrasque looks down at the speck that is Crowley. It bellows and charges. Crowley waits, and waits, until the tarrasque’s head is lowered right into the edge of the crater it made to rest, and then he’s gone. God this is so much simpler when you can teleport at will. There was still the matter of actually doing damage to it though. 

On the back of the beast Crowley looks for an opening as it shakes its head trying to clear it. The layered plates of armor on its neck shift back and forth, revealing the soft flesh beneath every so often. It’s a timing game, except there isn't a pattern. Crowley doesn’t seem perturbed, he just waits, and waits, and strikes. 

The blade sinks deep, Crowley’s own strength compounded by a dragon’s. With the size of the tarrasque it isn’t much, but it leaves a wound, an opening, which can immediately be stabbed at again. And it is. And again And again And again. The tarrasque screams as its flesh is ripped as slowly bones become visible. 

“There you are.” Crowley raises a hand and...Snap. 

And snap.

There is a scream and Crowley teleports Far away as the behemoth falls. The crash is as loud as the monster is big and a few trees are blown down by the air displaced from the impact. Then the low moans and growls of a dying beast fill the air. 

We watch as flounders, trying to move despite its broken spine. Light starts to seep from its mouth as souls that were trapped flow out.

_ “The exodus begins.” _

“ _ Yeah, a freaking short exodus.” _

“Very. Keep it warm for me girls.” He steps forward and flies. His smoke is peppered with light and he fills the sky with red.

_ “Holy smoke.” _ Unholy Robert, unholy.

The red smoke flies to the mouth in a cloud over 15 feet long. The cavernous maw of this heaving dying mound of flesh fills with it. It covers the escaping souls and vanishes into the mouth, taking them with it. 

We wait, he gave no one control of his body and we are trapped in the flesh. Dragoness could probably move it but is content to watch out of tired eyes. Fifteen minutes go by and the tarrasque’s breath slows, and slows.

Red smoke seeps out of its mouth, I know what will happen next, and I do not want to be here for it. I have no choice though, so I brace myself for the wave of energy that will burn like a thousand suns...before vanishing far too quickly for comfort with the combined effort of the King of Hell and a dragon’s soul.

And that is indeed what happens, that is what happens over and over for an hour. The fire of the soul next to me and Robert burns and singes us as Crowley uses it to whittle away at his prize. 

He was not wrong. I could not help but count. Over 35,000 souls had been trapped by that monster. For a brief shining moment they are free...and then they are gone. Which is better than what they were going through. It is better because I tell myself it is better, because I would most certainly prefer non existence to that black nothing filled with rotting flesh. 

Now more than ever I hate myself, I can’t not. I might prefer death to that existence, but some may disagree. And I chose for them. 

_ “Do not Chew Toy. It is but a story, and their stories are only changing.” _

_ “Fuck you dragon, you ain’t one a’ the ones dyin.” _

_ “True, but perhaps I will go through what they are one day, fade into the fabric of reality. That is all they are doing, fading into the fabric of a new reality.” _

_ “Yeah, a hungry one.” _ I sigh as I take in the conversation, waiting for Crowley to return. He is looking for the tarrasque soul, not wanting to do this again. He wants to prevent this monster from eating the mere 10,000 he wants to leave here. It takes a few minutes, but he finds it, one last soul, the same as the others, being brought back to die.

It fizzles slower than many of the ones that went before it, it had always been a monster after all. I had seen a few non-human shapes while I was in the dark messy hell, but they were faded, from long ago; and I paid them no mind in my flight from the newer more menacing souls. Still, next to a dragon that specifically wrote on its soul that this was now something it could do...they were nothing. 

...Was that one of the decisions she had made? The deal with Bobby? That she could do this to all souls but complete human ones?

I feel a rumble beside me, and a confirmation from Bobby, you can’t really keep secrets here. Crowley doesn’t even ask why, we all know the answer the Dragoness will give.

Because it was an interesting addition to the story.

We arrive back at the camp to see Lily sliding down Dragoness’s tail, and Damien talking to Dan and Bernard while the rest of the pack sits and listens. 

_ “I just don’t understand how you can play with a child one minute, and destroy thousands of souls the next.” _

_ “Why? They are not mutually exclusive.”  _

They aren’t, and that is what’s most fascinating and disturbing about the world. __

  
So I sigh, and settle in for a Hell of a ride.


	35. The Persian Debate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which old acquaintances discuss trivial things like favorite books, drinks, self harm, and suicide; then learn far too much about demon anatomy.

“Hey, Bobby.”

“Yeah Bec?”

Years upon years have passed. We are sitting in Crowley’s private room, waiting for him to get back from...something he wouldn’t share with us. He had been kind enough to bring us chairs, made of human bone but hey. 

“I got a couple of questions. We don’t really...at least we don’t really look into each other’s pasts when we’re in…”

“Casa a la Crowley?”

“Yeah. You keep yours private, don’t really allow yourself to relax and exude stuff...I mean you might have seen mine...“

“Nah. Not on purpose anyway. You ...you were ready to let go a anythin.”

“I don’t hide many things. Not now, not when I was alive. You hide things, they have power over you.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Yeah. So… since I figure this is the more polite way to talk...you willing to endure a couple...indeterminate amount of times worth of torture to raid the King of Hell’s liquor cabinet and have a heart to heart over-“

“Hell yes. Ain’t that thing locked out the wazoo though?” I smile and look at the cabinet where he keeps his liquor and dossiers. Covered in sigils and a chain in front. 

“Yeah, well I've been here long enough that I have a few friends.”

“Friends...in Hell?” I just shake my head and turn to the right. Growley is laying there, a tertiary guard alongside the two in front of the door. 

“Growley. Good girl. Fetch Rowena?” Growley rolls on her back. This terrifying monster was still, after all, a type of dog. “Yes. I will totally give you all the belly rubs.” They do not get those a lot because their underbelly is armored...and the edges of it are sharp. So Growley jumps up and vanishes through a wall. Old hounds can learn new tricks, especially when their master has 29 million souls’ power at his disposal. 

Bobby stares at the wall and then looks at me. 

“Belly rubs?”

“Hey, it’s a dog. It may bite my hand off while I do it, but it’s still a dog.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah no. Not down here, but there is booze. So, while we wait for our partner in crime, I gotta question.”

“Yeah?”

“How the Hell did the Winchester’s name not get all over the news?” Bobby chuckles and shakes his head, angry and sad all at once. 

“Their dad may have been an asshole but he was a good hunter, with a little bit of foresight. Moment he started huntin, all the Winchesters died in a car crash on paper. Never used that name again in official anything.”

“Well, yeah. Why didn’t you? Change your name that is.”

“I did. Sam’s damn journals didn’t! And then Mr. King a Hell decided to share that with the world!”

“Yeah, that could be a problem. So care to tell me how much was accurate?”

“How much time ya got?”

“Until Crowley gets back and destroys us for taking his booze.”

“Yeah about that. We really gonna steal from Crowley?”

“If I can make something new from the stuff in there, he may forgive me.”

“Yeah, good for you, what about me!?”

“My idea, my fault.”

“Yeah, doubt he’ll see it that way. I should really stop you.” I grin. 

“You could try.” He looks at me, a bit surprised. A fully trained hunter vs someone with no experience? 

“Right. Uh-huh.”

“I got pointy teeth, obscene jaw strength, annoyingly flexible, not easily choked, annnnd a Hellhound I’ve been giving belly rubs to for 80 plus years whenever Crowley leaves me here. You have everything in your favor when it comes to training and strength, but you got none of your tools.” My one real strength proves a point by growling happily as it poofs into the room. The Hellhound immediately lays on its back and rolls back and forth. “Good girl! Is Rowena coming?” There is an affirming growl as I lean over and run my hands down with the grain of the hide. As soon as I change direction I get three nicks on my fingers, then two more, then four more. It is like layers upon layers of hedgehog or puffer fish spines. ‘It’s fur Bobby, but not as we know it.’ “Who’s a good girl? Yes you are!” 

“That ‘good girl’ brings souls to Hell.”

“It’s her job, and she’s good at it. She was trained to do it. Don’t blame the pit bull for the way it was trained. Sure these are one of the few things that are vicious by nature, but I bet if I got a pup I could train it to be a guard dog.”

“Yeah, a dog that tears up trespassers and eats them.”

“That sounds like a great guard dog, even gets rid of the evidence. Isn’t that right? Yes it is!” I let her lick my hand for a moment, cleaning off the bits of red. I still don’t really get how souls ‘bleed’ down here, but hey, it happens. Probably the same reason souls appear wearing tangible clothes in Hell. Gotta say, I’d rather have clothes and cuts that bleed instead of being naked and cut open to find I’m empty. I’m broken out of my train of thought by Bobby’s voice. 

“The Hell is wrong with you?” I look up at Bobby’s comment to see him staring at me. 

“Probably a lot of things.” We are interrupted by a knock at the door. 

“Crowley! Growley implied ye wanted me?”

“Not quite Rowena! Think ya can get in?” There is silence. I can tell she’s pondering all the reasons and ramifications if she did. “We’re gonna raid your son’s liquor cabinet!”

“Oh! A worthier cause I ain’t heard in a decade!” There is a click and the door opens with ease. I see her slide her hand out of her pocket as she enters. 

“Fuck Rowena. Don’t. Ugh. You made a fucking copy of the skeleton key didn’t you?” She looks at me, a bit startled at my inarticulate outburst. If she had done it, I now had that idea in my head and Crowley would know. 

“What? Nay. That thing has magic that lets it work, any copy would jest be a key.”

“Right. Sure. I totally believe you.”

“It’s true. It’s the first skeleton key, not really something ye can copy.” I sigh. I hope for her sake that she isn’t lying. “Now. What’s this about raiding Fergus’s liquor cabinet?” 

“She’s suicidal is what she is.”

“Not for a long time Bobby. What I am, is bored and stupid. Now, the only rule I’m gonna say is we don’t fucking touch his scotch. That, Would be suicidal. So, can we open this without breaking anything Rowena?” We all look at the cabinet. It is freestanding and mahogany. Or another wood that has been stained, probably with blood. It is in two parts. The upper part where the liquor is and the bottom part where the glasses are. Both are concealed by full wooden doors that are locked. Unlike most liquor cabinets that let you glimpse the contents, this one obscures everything inside. The only hint that this contains liquor are the wine glasses that hang the outside. 

Both doors are covered in deep engraved warding symbols. There was more than liquor in this cabinet, if the fact that this contained some of the last bottles of Craig Scotch Crowley preferred was not enough for the warding. 

Rowena goes over to look at it. She leans over and whispers some choice words. The warding lights up slightly before she quickly stops so it doesn’t alert anyone. She frowns. 

“Without breaking it, nay. Ye need a password, or to be immune to warding. That would mean human, which none of ye are anymore, ye are souls.”

I pause and think. Password. So something pronounceable. Something no one would really think of him saying but he wouldn’t hate saying if he had to. Something uncommon. Something from before he could just ignore warding. Something no one else knew. So nothing from the show. Nothing from before it or during his life. That meant probably something from my time with him but that he didn’t think I knew about. Because the time that no one would know about but him would be those two months he was with me when I was unconscious. So… I stand up and go over to the cupboard and kneel, and start whispering. 

It takes a few minutes, trying to remember all the names, but soon enough there is a click, and the door swings open. I grin. Knew it. He is a fan of speculative fiction just like his persona. 

“H-how?” Whispers Rowena from the right. 

“Been with him for a bit, and I am an unfortunate amount of intelligent.”

“How so?” Asks Bobby as I stand and open the cupboard. 

“Enough to get into trouble. And don’t ask me what the password was. Now oooh.” I ignore the twenty some bottles of scotch on the top shelf and pick up one of three very large red bottles in the center. “What is this?”

“Blood alcohol.” Says Rowena. 

“What, like from Klingons?” Asks Bobby and I look up. “What?”

“I pegged you for a Star Wars guy.”

“Why in the Hell would you do that?”

“Because shorter, more action?”

“Exactly the reason I like Trek. More thinkin, more to watch. Had to pass the dark nights waiting for the idjits to call about the end of the world somehow.”

“What, moonshine didn’t help?”

“Not when you gotta couple of decades worth a tolerance.” 

“Would someone tell me what a Klingon is?” We both look at Rowena. 

“Did you...just like...not watch tv in your 500 plus years on earth?” 

“Nay. I had better things to do.”

“Yeah. Running from covens, fucking, killing, magic, blah blah. What did you do for fun?”

“That was fun dearie.” I roll my eyes and examine the top of the bottle. It’s corked with a normal cork, I’d have guessed a bit fancier but hey it works 

“Ok. To relax then!?” I ask while I pull at the cork in the bottle, which surprisingly leaves its home with ease.

“I read.”

“What?” Asks Bobby. I sniff the bottle. The aroma is Rancid. This was a wine, as in past tense. It had not been recorked properly. With the addition of blood, or whatever, this had gone bad in the worst way. It is rancid and burns my eyes. I blink and set it down, eyes watering, barely taking in the conversation that continues around me. 

“What do ye mean? Are ye surprised I read?”

“No! What do you read you red haired harpy?”

“Well I prefer poet-”

“She reads the original trashy romance, Shakespeare.” I interrupt as I try to uncork one of the unopened bottles.

“Shakespeare ain’t trashy.” Says Bobby.

“Now. Back then? Have you seen the amount of dick jokes? Perhaps trashy isn’t the right word, but you get my point. Can you open this?” I pass the bottle to Bobby and search further into the cabinet.

“Fuck no, I ain’t touching blood wine.” 

“Really dear; a hunter for over 40 years, in Hell for at least 20, and that bothers ye?”

“I don’t know Whose blood that is.”

“I’ll bet you $20 it’s mine.” They both look at me, I can feel their eyes on my back. “I did have a body for a while guys and I have a contract with the King of Hell, who was a blood addict. Who then wasn’t. Put two and two together. Just open the bottle.”

“What’s wrong with the other one dear?”

“Went bad.”

“Like vinegar bad?” I sigh and turn around. 

“No. Not unless you also happen to like rancid vinegar.”

“Vinegar is just wine that-” 

“No. It’s not. The process to make wine and vinegar is similar, but you have a mother, a bacterial culture, for vinegar. You want good vinegar, you control what that is. You want crappy vinegar, leave some wine out to air.”

“What are you, an encyclopedia?”

“No. My parents made vinegar, and had a vineyard, and drank wine. I also like wine. You want to know about wine or vinegar, ask, I have an okayish knowledge. Sooo, I’d like to try that wine, and before you go on about how wrong and gross it is, I’m Fucking Dead! Do Not Care! Now, I also need to figure out if I can make something new from the stuff in here.”

“Why?”

“So Crowley will be met with something nice, not just us rummaging through his shit when he gets back. Ok, grand marnier…Standard for cocktails.” I start muttering as I rummage through the numerous bottles, ignoring whatever Rowena and Bobby are talking about. 

Crowley has all the basics, albeit expensive ones, but he has few mixers. Those require refrigeration and a will to actually make your own drink as opposed to ordering someone to do it for you. He doesn’t have fresh fruit, or a muddler, or herbs. He does have a very nice tequila liqueur though, one you can’t really get outside of Mexico. Really good stuff. However that is pretty much the only thing I recognize. Every other brand name, no clue. If the bottle even had a label.

“Holy Hell...that’s Pappy Van Winkle.”

“What?” I turn and look at Bobby to see where he is pointing. It’s a thin bottle, filled with amber, mostly full. The name Pappy Van Winkle curves across the top of the label.

“Cheapest bottle you can Git is still over $60, and I doubt Crowley got anything less than the $300 one.”

“I mean, probably, but I don’t like whiskey often, and I’m sure as Hell not using something that expensive to make a mixed drink. You like it?”

“I got one bottle for killing a redcap at their distillery, that was their thank you. Best one I ever got. So yeah, pass that here.”

“You got the wine open yet?” Bobby glares and exhales harshly, but uncorks the bottle. I pass him the bottle I am holding and a whiskey glass.

“Me too darlin.”

“He’s pouring, I know barely anything about whiskey.” I hand Rowena a glass and grab the bottle of ‘wine.’ It’s one of those obnoxiously large bottles, the ones that are simple and smooth and hold about three regular bottles worth of wine. I sniff, smells like wine. 

“So, yer a whiskey gal?”

“Of course Robert, where do ye think Fergus got it frem?” I roll my eyes as I pour some of the wine into a glass. It moves just a bit more slowly than regular wine, probably the blood, but the dark red color is the same. I turn the glass, it has legs that are a bit more opaque than normal, but it otherwise looks fine. I set the glass down to let it air and go back to rummaging in the cabinet for Something to use to make a drink.

I listen to the two of them bicker about literary choices as I push and move bottles around. Some are most definitely older than the Declaration of Independence. One is blue and has a very nice skull on it and I think a skull inside it too. Another has the many pointed star symbol for magical power and it crackles slightly when I push it to the side. I’m a bit more careful after that. 

Finally, in the back, I spy a full bottle of ruby port. That is a drink I know. Next to it is an almost full bottle of crown royal. So not ludicrously expensive. And I get an idea. I grab both and set them aside for a moment, grab the grandmarnier, and close the cabinet. 

“You git an idea already?” 

“Yeah, it’ll probably suck.” I sigh as I sit down on the ground with the glass. 

“Then why would ye serve it to him?”

“Oh no, it’ll probably taste great, it’ll just suck for me. Cuz I’m not asking one of you to open a vein for this, or taste it to make sure it isn’t gross.” I ignore Bobby’s stare and take a sip of the wine. It’s base was a merlot, I can tell by the tannin. However, it was a blend, I don’t know with what besides blood but it’s a bit sweeter than merlot I’m used to. However the biggest difference is the hanging aftertaste of iron and salt along with a heavier mouthfeel. The iron blends well with the tannin and whatever barrel it was aged in. It’s weird, but not a bad wine. As in I’d buy this if it was on sale and maybe once in a blue moon, or considering the beverage, a blood moon. 

“Yer gonna...make him a drink with yer blood?” I take another sip and nod. 

“Considering I think this was made with mine and he didn’t seem to mind the taste of it straight, I see no reason not to.”

“Fergus Drank blood? Like a common demon?” I laugh at Rowena's comment. 

“Like a common nothing. He used it to torture me. Make fun of me. Make me uncomfortable. Diabolical bastard. Good actor though. Great actor.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothin.”

“I believe that’s a lie dearie.”

“Moving on. How’s the whiskey?”

“Not as good apparently as what ye don’t want to tell us.” I sigh and look at my glass, and take a long drink.

“I need So much more alcohol before we delve into that.”

“Stallin’, I see.”

“Fuck yes. Now, we lack any sort of cutting implement, right?” I look to my companions for affirmation, neither move so I assume I’m right. “Here girl, here Growley! Belly rub?” There is growling and the large demonic beast pulls itself over by its front paws and rolls onto its back in front of me. “Who’s a good girl, yes you are.” I run my hand over her belly until it bleeds from a thousand little cuts. They are those type of cuts that hurt for a millisecond when made but then don’t really do anything but sting and bleed unless you pull on them. Paper cuts, thousands. I sigh at the silence. “Please return to your previously scheduled conversation while I do this.”

“So… blood...or is it acting?”

“Oh my god Rowena, no! Not talking about it! And don’t even try to bring it up to your son. Have the decency to at least try to wait until I’m drunk to ask me. Thank god I wasn’t thinking about this when you were beside me. Ugh, soul forms are so confusing.”

“Different rules for souls in each realm darlin. Wouldn’t do to have an intangible soul in Hell, can’t exactly be tortured. So yes it can be complicated, but since when has anything simple?”

“Never. How about you Bobby, anything ever simple for you?”

“Puberty, that was confusin but simple compared to everythin that came after.”

“Can’t say I disagree. Bein an adult is hard.” I bring my hand up from petting Growley and it’s covered in blood, nearly dripping. So, not enough, not until it’s dripping. Hands were so weird. So sensitive, but if cut certain ways, don’t hurt at all. I go back to petting the very happy dog. “So what do you read Robert?”

“Biographies mostly. People gettin to live normal lives, find out what that’s like. You?”

“Fantasy, horror, and informational books on mythology and science. Rowena, besides Shakespeare?” 

“Well besides magic-”

“Drink!” They both stare at me. “That was Such a stereotypical response. Everytime one of us says something cliche, stereotypical, lies or some such we’re gonna drink. More we lie, more drunk we get, more honest we are, more shit faced we are when the king gets back. Hopefully too shitfaced for him to have any fun other than join us. Sound good?” I take a sip and grin.

“You are so weird.”

“Says the hunter and the witch to the only non-magical person in the room. So?”

“You gotta deal Chew Toy.” I grin and toast Robert, so we were going for the bone tonight.

“Good to hear princess. Red?”

“Fine. I read romance like you said, but I quiet enjoy gossip magazine-”

“Drink!” Rowena stares.

“How is that drink worthy?” 

“Rowena, how are you gonna find your marks for your plots besides magazines like that?”

“True, but used to. I’m dead now and still read them. So. Ye take a drink.”

“Fair.” I do and go to set the glass down. 

“Oh nay. Ye’re drinkin wine and we’re drinkin whiskey, ye’re drainin that cup darlin.” I chuckle and toast her and drain the cup.

“Fair again. Was hoping you wouldn’t catch that.” I bring up my hand and watch it drip onto the floor. I sigh.

“Also Agatha Christie.”

“What?”

“Well reading works by a fellow witch is always nice.”

“What?” Says Bobby.

“All of her books are recipes dear. The Orient Express. Ritual for bestowin the ability of telekinesis on the participants.”

“What?!” We both say. 

“Ye need 12 people, each person must use their own knife, each person must represent one of the tarot, the sacrifice must-”

“Now just hold on a minute. No. I’ve read my share of murder mysteries by her and there is no way every one of those books is a ritual.”

“Well, which have ye read?”

“...”

“Robert…”

“All of them alright!”

“Poirot or Marple Bobby?” They both look at me.

“What? I watched most of Poirot with my mom and dad. Ze little grey cells. Just...Keep driving this conversation for a moment. I need to make a drink or two. Sorry Growley, belly rub time is over, so I need you to move.” There is a whine and any angry growl but she moves and slumps right next to Bobby, much to his discomfort and my amusement. I grab a cup and hold my hand over it, letting it drip while I fill some other glasses with port, grandmarnier, and crown royal. They watch me.

“Well? Poirot or Marple?”

“Well Poirot is where she hid her ritu-”

“No she did not! I-”

“Well, not every single one, but if you don’t like that, you should hear what she hid in Marp-”

“Don’t you Dare ruin Marple for me!”

“Oh but the-”

“Guys, the yelling is wearing on me, c’mon. Uhhhh. Bobby, what was the most annoying thing about Dean?”

“Never put the damn beer back in the fridge.”

“Really? I thought it would have been his inability to talk about his feelings, same with Sam. Or the lying. Or the-”

“Dean was raised a man’s man. Bein anythin less than macho wasn’t allowed.”

“Goddamn toxic masculinity. You know men used to wear heels, not women? God the world turns on its head so frequently.”

“About every century or so, like clockwork. And drink.”

“What? Why?”

“Because every time ye have info in even the general vicinity of a topic, ye spew it out if ye are angry, or anxious, or uncomf-.”

“Noticed that did you? Fine.” I pour myself another glass and take a long drink. I look at the bottle. “Wish there was a proof on this.” I look at the cup underneath my hand and see it’s barely half way full. I sigh.

“Want some help darlin?”

“Right, fuck, magic.”

“No, well yes, but I happened to see a corkscrew with a knife on it.” She points and I see the very nice ivory cork screw with a knife on the side.

“And you didn’t think to mention that until now?”

“Just saw it when ye moved the bottle.”

“Great. Can someone cut me?”

“What? No. Do it yerself.” I roll my eyes and grab the knife and open it. It’s a knife for cutting wax or metal on bottles, not flesh. Not something I’m used to using for, well, cutting flesh.

“It’s too thick, not sharp enough.”

“What are ya talking about? A knife is a knife.”

“Not if you don’t want to slice into a nerve wrong. I’m just, I’m not used to cutting myself…” 

There is a silence, it hangs and then.

“Drink darlin.” I look at Rowena and sigh... and drain the cup. Robert looks at me; the 25 looking couple of centuries old soul, and can only see a broken kid. 

“Can someone just please do it for me, the knife isn’t sharp enough.”

“We ain’t doin it Bec. At least I ain’t, I am done cuttin up people I don’t wanna cut up.” I look at the cup, it’s barely over half full, the drops have slowed down due to how small the cuts are. I swallow and look at the Hell hound, laying on its side. I don’t wanna scrape up my hand any more. I step closer and bend down, looking for a single loose spine/barb/razor. I rub her belly once again with the grain, a bit harder, until one comes out. I take a breath and pick it up and head back to my seat, and sit down. I look at the ‘blade’ and sigh.

“Either of you had problems like this?”

“Does alcohol poisoning count?”

“Yes it does. Rowena?”

“No. The world did enough of that for me.”

“See, that’s why most people fall into bad habits.”

“I jest tried to get even.”

“Yeah, well most people don’t know magic is an option. And drink.” Rowena sighs but takes a drink from her whiskey. I twist the ‘blade’ around in my fingers and then, with another breath, slice my wrist like I had when I had first met Crowley. Like I hadn’t since that night. It would have violated Duty of Care after all, back when I had a body. 

I, we, watch the blood pour into the cup, and then almost over flow. I quickly move my wrist over the glass with the port and let it drip there for a bit. 

“Life is hard, it doesn’t matter your situation. Rich, poor, stable or not, everyone has something inside eating at them at some point in their life.”

“What was yers?” I look at Rowena.

“Isn’t that a bit personal?”

“Darlin, ye know mine, ye know Robert’s, ye watched a show based on a diary of someone who was close to us both. We know nothing about ye that ye didn’t feed us or we didn’t search out. The main thing, I believe, that we both dug from ye was yer memories of that show. Am I right Robert?”

“She’s right Bec, you’re the enigma here.”

“Joy. Well, you’re both in luck. There is very little I don’t feel comfortable sharing. I have mental health issues, anxiety out the wazoo. Plus clinical and seasonal depression, it’s no wonder I’m not exactly stable.”

“That ain’t what was eating at you though. Spill, or...drink some a Crowley’s Scotch.” My eyes widen.

“Why Bobby Singer, I didn’t know you were so devious.”

“I prefer harsh. So?” 

“You really wanna open a minute long boring monologue about a depressed artist who doesn’t matter?”

“Darlin, you changed Crowley into-” I interrupt her with something easier to talk about.

“Yeah, let’s not talk about that. Let’s talk about mental health and suicide, that’s fucking easier.” I take a breath and go into the long explanation I have thought of and told many times. “I...was a weird geeky kid with adhd, anxiety, and crap social skills. No friends, mostly bullies. So I connected my self worth with my ability to please others and my skills as an artist.” I can see Bobby wince at this and nod. “Yeah, you get it. Like connecting your self worth with how many monsters you kill or people you save. It’ll never be a perfect score, so you’ll never be satisfied. Bet you’ve seen some hunters waste away from that… But I survived...And then someone told me I would most likely never be an artist.” I gesture at my wrist. “Fun times especially since I was trying a new medication at the time. So...Cries for attention, thoughts of jumping in front of cars...Fortunately I was young and stupid and survived to… be not that. There’s a bit more, but that’s where it started.” I shake my hand off and wipe it on my shirt, and then grab some open bottle of vodka and pour it on my hand and wrist. I then proceed to lick my hand. They stare. “What, that’s probably a $70 bottle of vodka. I’m not wasting that, or getting blood on his floor.”

“You’re acting like you didn’t just tell two people you tried to kill yourself, repeatedly.” Says Bobby.

“The more we treat things like that as taboo to talk about, the less people who actually need help will come forward. They will wait until something breaks, like I did. So no, if someone asks me, I have no shame regarding that. Just regrets about how it hurt others close to me. So. Now that we are all thoroughly sad, can we please move on?”

“No, you bared your heart far too easily for that to be your burden.” Fuck. He was right.

“Look, I can promise you, the stuff I keep secret is just embarrassing shit, or some personal private shit, not life changing things. The big stuff, I have no problem sharing. Ask me anything that isn’t about sex or embarrassing body stuff and I will probably answer.”

“Really?”

“Really. Oh, and my thoughts regarding my involvement in what Crowley has become, because it makes my brain hurt. Also, why are we talking about this, it’s boring. Bobby, what was the stupidest thing you’ve ever seen the boys do? Rowena, what was Crowley like as a kid? I was a fucking nightmare. Reminisce.” I look down at the port mixed with my blood and pick it up, take a big breath, and taste it. I immediately swallow it. “Ok, this ruby port is too sweet for blood...or…” I look at the whiskey. “That could work.”

“Why are ya doin this?”

“I like making stuff. Haven’t gotten the chance to physically make something myself in...decade or so. This is the medium available.”

“So is the blood or acting a kink or an embarrassing story?” Says Rowena.

“Oh my god no. You know what, I’ll drink some of the fucking scotch.”

“Your funeral Bec.”

“I’m dead.”

“We all know that don’t matter.”

“Yeah, well, if he wants to punish me, he needs me around. Can’t exactly do that if I don’t exist. So.” I reach up to the top shelf and grab the clear bottle with the light yellow liquid. There is at least some already missing. I open it, take a sip, and gag. It burns and tastes like old batteries smell. 

“What?” Asks Bobby. 

“Isn't Glencraig. This isn’t whiskey. I think it’s acid.” I jump down and swiftly drink some of the wine. A lot of the wine. And get dizzy. “Ooohkay, fuck. Dizzy. I hate dizzy.” Rowena grabs the bottle of scotch and sniffs it, recoiling. 

“That’s not just acid darlin, it’s got magic, and it’s been blessed.”

“An ye can tell that?” There is a silence, and a moment before I realize what happened. “Sorry sorry. If I hear a strong accent for long enough I start talking in it. I’m jest, just, gonna sit down. Fuck.”

“Why would he bless and poison his own scotch?”

“He wouldn’t Robert, he Would put it somewhere else and replace it with something less friendly.” I cough. 

“Yeah, yeah he fuckin would do that. Can you tell what the magic was? Will it alert him?”

“Oh no. Nothing that fancy. Probably just make ye thirsty for more of this.” I look at the bottle and nearly barf.

“Nope. Not even a little.” I look at the glasses below me, full of blood, port, whiskey, and grand marnier, and also nearly barf at that. My stomach is not happy. Thankfully it was just a sip and it’s not like I haven’t been through worse pain. I fuckin hate nausea tho. 

“Oh just suck it up ya pussy.”

“I am Not afraid of this, I’m in Pain Bobby, and I need to be able to taste these drinks. I’m not handing Crowley something I haven’t tested.” I sit down on the floor and put my head in my hands. “Just, just put the bottle back and talk amongst yourselves.”

“Amongst ourselves? The Hell kinda language is that?”

“My syntax can get weird when I’m inebriated, ok. Just, put the bottle back.” I hear clinking and nod as I sit there for a bit, head in hands and listen to the two others in this room.

“So, any idea on how to get outta here?”

“For ye Robert Singer? Nay. None that ye’d like.”

“How so?”

“Do ye want to become a demon?”

“Hell no!” Say’s Bobby with incredulity and offense.

“I’m surprised ye haven’t done more to try to escape.”

“I’m persistent, not an idjit. Purgatory has dragoness and I ain’t exactly got a reaper on speed dial. Plus Billie kinda hunkered down on the illegal trafficking. There are demons out side this room, and I ain’t got weapons. No one down here is gonna do me a favor outta the goodness of their heart. I ain’t got many options besides possessin’ a meatsuit, of which there are exactly none. At least Crowley can’t destroy me.” I laugh.

“Of course he can. He can tie you to a rack, demonize you, turn you back human if he wants a quicker meal, and fucking eat you Bobby. He’s the king of loopholes, and trust me, there’s always a loophole. Rowena, this fucking sucks, don’t you have-”

“Not without ingredients dearie. Not for a disenchantment spell.”

“Fuuuck. Ok. Ok. I got this.” I stand up and look at the room. I know he had certain spell ingredients in here somewhere, well… “I I just need some chalk. A base.”

“Oh for pete's sake. Imperi torpens dolor.” Relief floods through me as Rowena points and incants. I take a deep sigh of relief then glare at Rowena. 

“I thought you couldn’t fucking help!”

“Oh, yer still violently ill, you jest can’t feel it darlin. You could be quickly dyin, and not know it.”

“Welp, already dead, so I’m great. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome darlin.” I take another breath and sit down. Back to work. I take the cup with the grand marnier and drink it, then put the bottle away. I pour half the whiskey into the glass and swirl it around, then pour some of the blood in. I taste it. Yup. Gross. I drink it anyway so I don’t accidentally mix it with something else. Don’t exactly have a place to pour it out. 

“Robert, what were ye plannin on doin if ye escaped? You tryin to stop my son?”

“Of course. He’s got his job, I got mine.”

“Heh, and what would you try and do Bobby?” I pour half the port blood mixture into the rest of the whiskey and taste that. I sigh. That was good. Gross, but good. So, yeah, perfect for a demon. I pour in a bit more blood and set it aside. I have something to give Crowley when he comes back. I take a breath and pull myself back up on the stool and pour myself some of the port. I am just a bit tired of the taste of blood. 

“Dunno, probably try to get back into heaven, tell the angels exactly what his abilities are.”

“They already know that. He ransacked heaven over 100 years ago, when they canceled the contracts.” Bobby stares at me.

“They did what?”

“You heard me. Demon tablet.”

“That doesn’t make a lick a’ sense. If Dragoness came up with the deals then…”

“What, you think God is too good to listen to a co-writer? One he Made? The literal most fun thing in writing is taking someone else's idea and running with it, twisting it, making it your own or better or-” 

“Ok fine. Let’s just say that’s true for the sake of movin to my next question. How did Crowley even restart things?”

“I told you. He fucking stormed heaven. I really believe that was the last chance anyone had to kill him easily. Anyway, that’s when he took the tablet to a deceased prophet. Didn’t really feel like hunting down the new one I guess, who was probably under lock and key anyway. Then he broke up that tablet into tiny fucking pieces and did I don’t know what with them.”

“But-“ the door clicks and we all look up. It swings open to reveal Crowley whose face goes from preoccupied with something to angry, to incredulous, to mildly impressed, to curious within moments. We all just sit and wait. 

“How.” The question is more demand than question and I happily comply. 

“Crowley. When I was alive. I always put my books back in order, when I remember to put them back, so when a few weren’t...well. I reread those.” I toast him. “Ursula K LeGuin. Good choice. Get’s real creepy real quick too.”

“How the fuck do you remember something like that Bec?” Asks Bobby as Crowley is trying to decide whether he is going to boil me alive or have a drink with me, or boil me alive in his drink. 

“Because I thought it was interesting and my mind latches on to the Weirdest shit. Like one time at a sculpture garden, there was a bench made of nickels, I found the only Canadian nickel in there. Oh, or the fact that in D&D there used to be more types of Modrons in earlier editions. Or that iron’s atomic symbol is FE is funny to me because iron binds fae creatures. Absolutely nothing useful.” I take a sip and look at them. “Do you want me to keep going? Cus I can keep going with this inanity for hours. Or I can give the King of Hell his drink.” At this Crowley looks up with a raised brow. 

“You want me to believe you broke into my liquor cabinet for my benefit?” I chuckle, but grab his drink and stand. 

“Crowley, if you were that gullible I would have broken more than your cabinet a long time ago. You’re not, so Here. Have an attempt at placation with this port wine, whiskey, and soul blood.” I walk over and hold it out. He looks at me, at the two others, and snaps his fingers. We all freeze, literally. 

He sighs, takes the drink from my hand, and sits in the bone chair. He takes a sip and then holds the glass by the top, letting it dangle. 

“You know this is just a spodiodi with blood, right? You think I haven’t added a bit of blood to almost every type of drink there is?” My heart sinks, he had already had this… he had probably had most everything a demon would like that I could make with the ingredients down here. 

My eyes light up, I have an idea. He’s had millennia to try all the things a demon could possibly try. That a demon could try. He could try more things now. I had been going about this all wrong. I strain and shake my head, trying to talk. 

“Does my pet have an idear? If it’s not better than this I’ll just drink you.” He let’s all of us go and we slump a moment, Bobby barely holding onto his whiskey. I breathe. We all breathe heavily. I swallow and gasp for a moment. 

“Yup.” I cough a minute into the silence. “But I need your torture kit and-“

“You, need something of mine. And I’m just supposed to give it to you?”

“It’s to make a drink for you! And I need to be healed! Your fucking acid scotch-“

“You drank my scotch?” There is complete silence as the three of us ponder what to do. 

“It was part of a deal Fergus. A drinkin’ game.” Says Rowena trying to take some of his focus off me. 

“You were using my scotch, my good scotch, for a drinking game!?”

“If ya didn’t want to answer a question, ya had to drink from Crowley’s special reserve. Risk your ‘highnesses’ ire. Yer firstborn contract holder here was the only one dumb enough to risk it, and it wasn’t yer good scotch anyway.” Crowley blinks and looks from Bobby to me, curious as to what I’d risk his wrath to hide. 

“Crowley, I don’t wanna talk about it. I don’t wanna talk about how I helped you get powerful. I don’t wanna talk about how I feel about that. I don’t wanna talk about admiration or my feelings for what I thought was a fictional character and an actor!” 

“Ye had a crush on Fergus!?” I can see Rowena’s mental turmoil and Bobby’s disgust clearly. Crowley is just sitting happily watching my inner turmoil. 

“Oh Hell no. That would have been a more toxic relationship than Joker and Harley Quinn. But I thought his mind and wit were sharp and hot. Both the actor and the character, that I had no idea were the same fucking person! That’s not the problem!”

“The problem, her problem, is that she let that depiction of me make her confident enough to sign a deal. But there-” I snarl. I had to think fast. 

“You finally have something to hold over my head again and you’re just gonna waste it here?” He pauses and looks at me, as do Rowena and Bobby. 

“What happened to having no secrets so they don’t have a hold over ya?” I sigh at Bobby.

“I don’t care if you know, I just don’t wanna talk about it myself, out loud. It’s so much easier to just...feel it and-”

“She doesn’t want to tell you she’s proud of what she has done Robert Singer.” I cringe. Yeah. His silent anger and confusion feel like heat. With my cold shame they create an invisible storm where our emotions find each other. 

“What? Bec, what’s he mean?” I can’t look at him, at Bobby, so I just look at the floor.

“He means what he said. I’m proud of my accomplishment, of my ideas and how well they succeeded. It’s wrong, but…” The silence weighs heavy like the pressure before a storm breaks; the one we just created moments earlier is about to rain down and let loose thunder. 

“You sick c-“ And here’s the thunder. 

“Rude. Of course she’s proud of her ideas, it just happened that her ideas were used by me.” Here’s the rain. 

“I don’t need your defense Crowley.” Here’s the lightning. Our little maelstrom is complete. 

“You’re Proud of the fact that your idea has cost millions their souls!?” 

“The person who invented dynamite didn’t know it was gonna be used for fucking war! I thought I was just damning myself! Maybe making a contract that might save some Other souls from torture! Maybe making Crowley a bit harder to kill! He was already immortal!”

“Yeah well now he’s damn near invincible!”

“Near?” The argument stops as we look at Crowley.

“There is always something Crowley. The options just get more and more slim.” I say nervously, hoping this storm isn’t about to turn into a hurricane. Perhaps this calm is just the eye of the storm. Perhaps we are about to be blown away and dashed against the walls. 

“And what are the options for me?” 

“The god killer thing?” He scoffs at my question, even Bobby smiles. “Look, I have no clue how much of everything on that show was true! There was a lot! C’mon! You know how shows are, everything must get more and more dire as the heroes face ever greater odds.”

“Ya still fucked up buttercup.”

“You don’t think I know that? Jesus c-“

“Language. And Robert. Blame the real culprits, not Chew Toy. If your two boys hadn't woken me up, this wouldn’t be happening. But no, they couldn’t have just talked to Rowena about the contract, or waited for her to realize how stupid it was. They just assumed she went bad when she took the contract they used to fix The Colt so they could kill yet another problem they created! So stop it. And Chew Toy. No cursing.”

“Oh fuck off I’ve said worse than that. At least I’m not taking God’s true name in vain. Now to move as far away from this topic as possible… One: would you kindly, your highness, get me the holy water from your torture kit?” He regards me for a moment and I don’t know if he’s going to put me through immense pain, call me back, or actually do what I ask. It’s refreshing and scary, to have a physical form and not know what will happen to it. 

He snaps and the holy water appears in front of me. Hurricane Crowley has at least temporarily dissipated over the ocean. 

“Thank you.” I grab it, and march over to the liquor cabinet to grab the vodka and grand marnier. “Two. Why don’t demons, besides the ones in the pits, walk around Hell in their true forms?”

“Darlin, I can answer that, they are vulnerable.” Bobby looks at Rowena incredulously. 

“The eight foot tall thing in the pit with three mouths and claws that look like rock, is vulnerable?”

“Most powerful, most vulnerable. You can’t kill smoke, smoke can’t attack very well. Solid form, easier to hit, on both ends. That form is why we aren’t just ‘twisted, perverted, evil spirits’ Singer. That form is what would be on earth if the gates of Hell were destroyed.” Crowley muses for a moment. It would be a good time, for about a decade. Being able to feel things with his own hands, eat with his own mouths, do a lot of horrible things. And then the humans would be extinct and it’d be boring. 

“Wait, so...a regular knife could kill a demon in its natural form?” 

“If you could get close enough. And not get eaten. It has happened once or twice; a mortal getting close enough to kill a demon, the getting eaten happens more often. Silly witches trying to broker deals, hunters trying to find some artifact.”

“But...you’re immortal. So why not walk around without the meat suit?” I nod in agreement with Bobby’s question. 

“They don’t make Armani suits in my size. And it makes me hungry; being that size, with more than one mouth, I just want to put everything in them.” I shudder. He had taken his true form once or twice with me along for the ride. That’s where the crown showing he was king manifested. All menacing atop his head, radiating heat and malevolence.

It was a horrible experience. A being of pure sin. With smoke everything felt far away and diluted...in his true form… I swallow, hands shaking a bit as I try to unscrew the holy water. Crowley notices. 

“Did you have a good time for those three days Chew Toy? That is the main benefit to being your true self; it’s very visceral, direct.” Bobby looks at me, then to Crowley. 

“What did you do that She won’t talk about?”

“Oh, I could tell you Bobby, you don’t wanna hear.” I’ve finally gotten the cap to start unscrewing and I focus on that. I fail. All I can remember is the excess. He felt dense and empty. Like a...a thick bag of holding. The magic that went into making the item was huge, made it powerful, but it was empty, waiting to be filled. Want. That’s all that form was. Twelve feet three inches of want. No matter how many souls were there, no matter what he did, ate, created, or destroyed... it was always More. My hand shakes and I set down the flask and just try to breathe. Crowley couldn’t hide his feelings or thoughts in that form because he was solid. Or something. And I sat in one of his stomachs... just feeling. 

Most demons had two stomachs. One for food, one for souls. When demons talked about souls they had or earned, that’s what they meant, how many they had there. They weren’t eaten, just kept. Unless you were a crossroads demon, you had maybe fifty, no matter your age. Sure princes or white eyes could hold a bit more but a stomach can only hold so much, and Hell liked its rules. You could break them with magic or toys, but there would be prices. Painful prices. 

The souls in that stomach most demons had didn’t exude feelings, or think, or do anything other than provide a tiny bit of power and amusement. And once there, those souls don’t come out unless the demon is killed, and even then, they just go back to Hell. If a demon circumvented that, filled the rest of their body with souls… well if they did it wrong it started to wear on their true form just as it wore on Castiel’s vessel. A demon who did that would eventually break down. It could take millennia, just the moments hopping from vessel to vessel where the souls attacked them and bit the host… but those short moments would add up and they would die. 

Crossroads demons were different. They had three stomachs, one for food, one for their personal souls, one for contracts. The souls, or contracts, in the third stomach could be taken out at will. The soul was put into the pit or the second stomach and the contract, once completed, went into the filing system. 

I wasn’t even sure they were ‘stomachs’ in the strictest sense. They were more like...prisons. Still, it was disturbing when a demon’s form let you see their ‘stomachs’. Not a pretty sight. 

“Bec. Bec!” I look up to find everyone staring at me. 

“What?”

“You weren’t exactly respondin’ to us there. You ok?” I chuckle. 

“No. I was thinking about Crowley’s true form.” Bobby grins and sips the whiskey.

“What? He an ugly sonofabitch?”

“Hard to be ugly when you don’t have a face Bobby. And drink, you predictable sonofabitch.” Bobby grumbles but drinks while Crowley smiles.

“Set face. Don’t have a set face, Chew Toy.” 

“What?”

“Crowley is an actor, Bobby. He wears the face that gets the job done. His true form shows that. Another reason a lot of demons don’t walk around naked, it’s very telling.” I swallow and pause, reading Bobby’s disbelief. He’d only ever seen one side of Crowley after all. “The changes he makes are minute most of the time, but he can be the suave interesting stranger, the mean boss, the handsome dinner date, Hell he can be a whimpering slave. Whatever is needed to reach his goal, a facade over his true intentions.” Bobby looks at Crowley who just sits with a self assured smile and raised brows, enjoying the short biography on himself.

“So? No face don’t seem particularly scary compared to some of what’s down here.”

“It’s not. That’s not what’s scary. He’s the only demon with five stomachs.” Bobby blinks, Rowena also looks up from her drink. She didn’t know this either. 

“I thought the most a demon could have was three, Fergus?”

“Well, one comes with the crown.” Crowley taps his head and we can hear a very faint ‘ting.’ 

“Wait, so you had all the souls a Hell, if I’m gettin that that what the stomach would be for, a direct link for power?” Crowley nods. “So you had all that, and still weren’t a match for Lucifer?” Bobby looks at Crowley with a bit of fear and awe, not for him but for something in the past. 

“Different kind of power darling. Not ‘alter existence power’. Power over souls. Power to heal. Power to control how Hell works. Maybe catch Luci unawares once or twice. But no, not too much power that could be used outside Hell. Nothing that could tip the scales as long as heaven does its job.” Bobby sighs. 

“I know I shouldn’t ask, but what’s the other for then?”

“The souls he’s currently pulling apart.” Both Rowena and Bobby look at me, then at Crowley, who has at some point obtained a glass of scotch. The implications in this are...confounding and disturbing to say the least. 

“That would mean...he’s always had the ability to do this… to...kill souls.” Says Bobby, Rowena is silent. Crowley raises his hands in a manner of fact way and begins a lovely terrifying monologue.

“I had the tool but no instruction manual. I didn’t have anyone to teach me after all. Unique is not a good thing down here.” Crowley takes a sip of his drink and surveys the room. “Fortunately, unlike some, my inner workings aren’t visible. I’d have been pulled apart and killed. Red is one thing, but four stomachs? I kept that quiet until I forgot about it.” He takes a sip and regards the other two while they sit in silence. I am concentrating on forgetting what I felt and found out. That I was in the contracts’ prison. That if he ever came down here and I was in any of the others…Crowley continues talking. “It was a pleasant surprise to come back down here for a rare stretch one day and just...find it full. It was the main reason I didn’t walk around down here, why I hated Hell. Four stomachs. I was always hungry, and it wasn’t just for cheeseburgers or sex.” Bobby chokes on his drink. “What, you thought the first stomach was for just regular food? Demons Eat sin. Drink fear. Hate is a dessert to most. Ours. Others.” Bobby is still coughing and looks a bit green in the face as his own mind, just as quick as mine at making connections and theories, begins to do just that. Crowley continues, seeing how much farther he can make Bobby’s mind spiral. “Each demon has a preference. Why do you think some eat children? They aren’t particularly good or filling, but the sin of that for some... It’s their favorite meal.” There is silence, this was information no hunter had. Rowena knew about the feeding habits of her previous subjects, but not her son. She had never thought to ask. 

“And what was yers Fergus? What...are ye hungry for?” I shake my head. Rowena. Why would you ask a question with an obvious answer? He looks at her and sips his scotch. 

“Why mother, I thought we had gotten to know one another. I’m surprised you don’t know.” She’s silent. He sighs. “Everything mother, almost everything. What Some enjoy is just trashy though. I find I most enjoy anything that isn’t simple. So, to that end, let’s change the subject. What inspired you to risk your existence by breaking into my liquor cabinet?” I finally take a breath and am able to push away the memories now that we aren’t talking about it as much. 

“Bored, wanted to make you a new drink.” He blinks, the others do as well. “My existence is defined by my ability to create, or at least enjoy what others create. I haven’t been able to do that with my hands for decades. I missed it.”

“You’re insane.” I look at Bobby as I pour the vodka into a tall glass, followed by the holy water. My hands are still shaky but I manage to not spill any. I push the memories of the intensity of those three days out of my head. It wasn’t what he did, well it was partly that. Mainly it was that after hundreds of years being surrounded by dull experiences, to be suddenly encompassed in something that felt sensations with such intensity? I passed out, or whatever the soul equivalent is... And when I recovered I went into shock from what… what I awoke to. 

I don’t spill any but it almost overflows and I shake myself out of it again, feeling them watching me. I take a breath.

“Yeah. I’m an artist, comes with the territory. Taste this please, tell me if you like that ratio.” Crowley is torn between annoyance and having a possible interesting experience. He takes the glass and decides to go with the latter. He could always torture me later. We all watch him sip, the holy water obviously causing him a bit of pain, but nothing he couldn’t handle. The question is, did he like that amount of pain right now.

“It’s fine.” I nod and take the glass back. Crowley looks at my two other accomplices and licks his lips unconsciously. It’s dry here, in this part of Hell. Hot dry heat. The drink he just sipped would have barely helped, already evaporated and drawn a bit of moisture from his lips. Or perhaps he was contemplating changing into something more comfortable… that would be bad for all of us. Crowley was not lying about the intensity of everything in his other form. I doubted he had eaten anything recently either. You didn’t need to eat as a demon, that didn’t mean you didn’t get hungry, starving in that form. 

“So, what were you discussing before I came in?”

“How you stormed heaven. And how I think that was the last time you could have been easily killed.” I pour in half a jigger of blood and stir. 

“You aren’t wrong. Why would that matter?”

“Because I’m still going to try stop ya.” Crowley smiles at Bobby.

“For old times sake or because you miss stabbing things?”

“Because what yer doin is wrong.”

“Despite the fact that I only intend to use it to keep the world in one piece?”

“Yes! The cost is-“

“No greater than the lives that have been sent to Hell because the brothers hardy didn’t close the gates. Not greater than the potential lives lost because Castiel couldn’t keep his dinner down. No greater than the ones Amara ate to-“

“Yeah, but those souls still exist.”

“The point is, Robert, that if this was needed to save the world, one of your gang would have done it instantly. What bothers you is that I’m doing it preemptively, and unlike you four, I enjoy doing it.”

There is silence. Because Crowley is right. Bobby doesn’t know how to respond so he just shoots the rest of the whiskey. 

“If we’re gonna get all moral talking philosophy and shit I need another drink.” 

“Me too dear.”

“I haven’t gotten mine yet.”

“Well I need one more ingredient. Uhm, do you still have that emergency bit of my soul?” Silence. 

“You're actually suggesting I drink your soul?”

“Well you keep fucking threatening to, so why not make it an event?”

“You are a really sick puppy.” 

“I’ve been told Bobby. So?”

Crowley laughs and snaps his fingers and the jar appears. He unscrews it and it immediately floats toward me. 

“What part of me is that anyway?”

“I believe your love of tea and coffee.”

“Huh. Ok. Well, break it up and put it in.”

“What!?”

“What Bobby? He can put it back together.”

“It’s true.” 

“Yeah but it fucking hurts!”

“I’ve grown used to it.” I pass the glass to Crowley and with a snap the bit of me that loves morning beverages falls into the glass like snow. The pain is small, like a thousand tiny needles just pushed against my skin for a second, but it’s there. The glass sparkles now, like some cheap shimmering liquor, or even goldschlager. I chuckle as he shakes the contents a bit. The liquid is the slightest red, wisps of it floating through it despite the mixing, it looks like Crowley. I snort. 

“It’s called ‘The Crowley.’” 

“Well, it better live up to its name.” 

I pause. 

“Wait. You...you gotta syringe still?” I grab the port/blood mixture as Crowley raises a brow but a syringe is produced from his pocket. I will think about why that was there later but for now I grab it and pull some of the mixture from the glass into the device that really shouldn’t be used like this. At least it was partially blood. 

Thank god the vodka is smooth. I take the syringe and plunge the long needle into the center and suck some of the vodka and water and then pull up and push all of it out. It is an odd effect, the different densities sinking and rising. The red blossoms and then when I stir it the streaks of color wisp and blur. I hand it back. 

“Try it now. Work in progress remember.” He looks at it. 

“It’s pretty. But looks aren’t everything.” He takes a sip,and I can see that he is trying very hard not to react physically. I grin. 

“Not about the taste Crowley. The holy water hurts and the vodka makes it burn, the blood and the wine make it sweet, and a bit emotional. Art is about experience after all. So with the soul, you get the art and the artist.

“How...why would you do this? Create another thing for him to torment people with.” Asks Bobby. 

“One. It’s my job. Two. I have at least thirty more ideas involving this, but they involve my soul, because that’s the one I know how to use the best. So, it may keep him off others for a few decades. And I get to create shit.”

“And you think I’ll just let you dictate my leisure time?”

“You said it yourself, you don’t wanna train someone new, it takes time.” Bobby is giving me a look like I’m a sociopath. “Bobby, I have never treated my body well. I tried to take care of it, but my art always came first, even at the cost of my health. Why should it be any different now?”

“Because it’s yer goddamn soul!” I laugh. 

“No it's not. It’s Crowley’s.”

“Wow, you’ve really drank the kool aid Bec.”

“No. I dug my grave and now I’m making the coffin as livable as I can.”

“I am getting quite bored of bein left out of this conversation.” We glance at Rowena who has somehow managed to get the whiskey out from the cupboard without any of us noticing and is pouring herself another glass. “Robert?”

“Oh fuck yes. I ain’t goin through any more of this shit sober.” 

“You realize that’s mine.” Crowley takes a sip of the drink I made as he watches the conversation with something bordering amusement. 

“King a Hell or no, you’ll haveta’ pry this bottle outta my cold dead ghost hands.” 

“I could put you back on the rack.”

“Not afore I drink this whiskey ya can’t.” And Bobby shoots back a small shot of the pappy van winkles and sucks air through his teeth. “Damn that’s good.”

“Didn’t you have whatever you wanted to drink in heaven Bobby?” I ask as I try to settle against the cabinet. 

“Yeah, but there’s somethin’ about knowing this was made by someone’s hands that just makes it…”

“Better?” Crowley toasts the old hunter who scowls and turns his attention back to me. 

“I still feel like there is something you ain’t tellin us.” I sigh, but I finally have an answer to that. 

“You’re totally right. It’s stuff about my personal life. And you know what, I’ll tell you if you tell me how many times you jerked off a day and what type of porn you watched, both of you.” Bobby blinks. Rowena seems disinterested now that she know it’s just someone not wanting to discuss their sex life. Most people didn’t, so nothing new there. Point in fact...

“Gotcha. Ok. Crowley, what do you….No. wait a fuckin second. Was my goddamn soul in one of your fucking stomachs when you owned it?”

“Why Robert? Want to see your old home?”

“No! Gross!”

“Well you’ll be happy to know that I just had its echo.”

“It’s...what?”

“Echo. It’s how contracts work. It’s a representation of your soul, an echo of it, that I get to keep until I have the real thing and choose where it goes. Otherwise humans would be those empty husks that go insane.”

“Decide...Crowley. Where would you have put me?” Crowley sips and smiles and I shake my head. God Bobby is just as much a masochist as Crowley. Asking these questions. 

“Darling Robert Singer. You would have gone to my second stomach so fast you would have had whiplash and I would have had heartburn.” I sigh in tandem with Rowena and our gazes meet. I shake my head and she nods. Another stupid pissing contest where it would just end in awkwardness with two guys with their dicks out. 

“Damn right I woulda hurt. So why ain’t I there now?” 

“I became King of Hell. I can move souls in contract or in Hell around at will, barring interference. I want you there, you’re there. I like seeing you more. I don’t really get to see those souls.”

“Wait...why don’t we see those souls in yer smoke? The contracts? The...anything?”

“It’d be quite heavy. Little pocket dimensions. I need to keep the others handy, to be moved around. And my fourth stomach is unique, it seems to encompass the entirety of my smoke. I’d always wondered why my smoke seemed to pack a bit more punch. I guess it was the stomach acid.”

“Uh...where are all those souls you had in your second stomach now Crowley?” I ask quietly. 

“I had them before Robert met Dragoness. So, they’re here, somewhere in my reddish self. Nice play by the way Robert, you made it so I have to change your soul if I want a taste. I look forward to it in a millennia or so.”

“You sick sonuva-“

“Witch. Yes. I know. I’m joking. I won’t do that to you unless you force my hand.”

“What, off your cock from your fun time during your self gratifyin’ speeches?”

“Oof. Robert. I believe Hell is rubbing off on you. That was almost a good insult. No. You force my hand by doing something Winchester-y. So. Now that we’re done, yet again, discussing my physical anatomy…?” Silence reigns as we try to move into more benign topics. We fail. 

“Robert, what were you going to ask when you interrupted yourself?” Crowely rolls his eyes and pushes the conversation away from what He considers boring, or perhaps dangerous, information.

“Oh. Uh. What you like readin?” I snort a bit at the 180 but manage to hide it by sipping my drink. 

“Fiction and fictional history. It’s amusing to see mortals who don’t know about this world speculate on how it works.” I take a sip and ponder something. Crowley had played a lot of parts in his role as an actor, I wonder if he had concerns about where humans might head.

“What are all of you gonna do once humans get to long distance space travel?” They all look at me as I sip the port again. “What? We aren’t exactly aging here and it’s gonna happen eventually.”

“I don’t see why it’s a problem darlin?” I look at Rowena. 

“Not exactly crossroads in space.”

“Depends how big the ship is. And distance does not matter in relation to this magic. You want to make a deal, we go halfway across the universe.” I chuckle. Of course Crowley would have thought about this.

“Yeah, but there isn’t any dirt to bury the box.”

“Beneath floor panels would do fine.”

“What about other life forms...other souls? Other demons or other Hells?”

“If there are other branches, they haven’t exactly sent an ‘E.T. phone home’ message.” Oof, that was telling and I did not want to think about that.

“Ok. Done with that line of questioning.” 

“What? Why? It was jest gettin' interesting darlin.”

“Rowena, I am not explaining the Fermi Paradox to you. It’s too complicated and I can’t wrap my head around that and demons and what those might mean in relation to each other ok? The ramifications of a type V civilization-”

“A what?” She asks. Crowley looks amused.

“No. No, I am stopping there. You want to get started on questions like that? Read The Last Question by Isaac Asimov. Then look up the Fermi Paradox and talk to me when your brain starts to melt and existential dread sets in.”

“It’s a good story.” I look at Bobby. “Hey, I can read the classics.”

“Fair.”

“Darlin, I Met God, existential dread isn’t-”

Rowena, trust me. It doesn’t matter in this case. The fact that there is a god, just makes this story hurt your brain more. Especially if you’re scientifically minded. You want to go into this stuff, I have to tell you about things like the double slit experiment and the inability of physics to have one set of rules for the macro and micro universes.”

“What? Darlin, you’re speaking in gibberish.”

“No, I’m not, and that’s why it’s terrifying. None of the answers answer the problem of entropy. Because if all that stuff is just as it is with no explanation, then God is lazy, or has already decided the ending to the story. If the explanation is ‘it’s magic’ then that sets up a whole other set of problems.”

“Why?”

“Because, and I quote, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.’” Rowena stares.

“No it ain’t.” I look at Bobby and then Crowley, and smile.

“Oh boy.”

“Oh yeah Bobby. Let’s continue this perisan debate.”

“A what darlin’?”

“Yeah, what?” Echoes Bobby. Crowley just sips his drink at the other’s confusion. He knows exactly what that is, he has been with me long enough to have heard me think about it.

“The Persians had a process. They discussed an idea sober, then they discussed it drunk. If they came to the same conclusion both times, the idea was sound. So, discuss. My first point. I bring an iPhone back to you, Rowena, before let’s say 1730, what would your response be?”

“She would have tried to suck up and see what sort of witch you were.”

“Fergus, I would not!”

“You totally would have, and that’s the point, you would have thought I was a witch.”

“Yes, but once I had broken that wee bit of plastic apart, I would have seen there wasn’t a single incantation on the thing.”

“Yeah, but you woulda thought it was magic for a moment. That’s the point.”

“Right Bobby.”

“No, it nay is! The point would be that it’s now distinguishable! I would hae figured it out!” 

“Woah, Rowena, calm, your accent is showing. It’s a discussion, not a fight. We probably won’t come to an answer.”

“Oh no, this be a fight now. There is a feel to magic, one that no Technology can replicate. A pressure, a buildin’ of energy.”

“Ok, what about lasers? Or railguns. I can’t imagine energy wouldn’t be tangible around those.”

“What? A What?” I sigh. Oh boy. Talking about this stuff to someone who hadn’t really seen scifi. I look to Crowley. He sits, sipping his drink, watching us squabble like ants. I wonder if he had ever really participated in a discussion like this for fun. As himself, not in his persona. Perhaps that is why he isn’t now. He didn’t know how, or felt it was beneath him.

But it wasn’t beneath his persona. The one that was a bit more than ‘just’ a persona. Human Crowley. Crowley sans hell. Sans true evil. Sans Fergus’ trauma. He had said once it was basically ‘Crowley lite’.

“Crowley, c’mon. I need your persona and you for a moment. Mark Sheppard, the actor who read speculative fiction and not only played roles in scifi and fantasy, but in between, While being a demon and an actual son of a witch. You’re the most knowledgeable about this. What do you think?” 

“I think it’s a pointless discussion.”

“Yes, it is. And isn’t. There is no ‘point’ to philosophy other than a hope to gain a better understanding of things.”

“A goal that is usually never reached.”

“True, but we have four experts here. A witch, a hunter, a demon and actor, and an artist who imbibed in way too much media while she was alive. The possibility of actually coming to a conclusion is exciting. Besides, we get to yell at each other and drink, which is half the fun. I could needle at you, try and trick you into joining, but we’d both see the ploys easily. Just join us. You probably have the most actual experience of both worlds here, I just have knowledge but I’ve never practiced magic. So, do you think the feeling magic creates can be replicated?”

“I think we have an Isaac Asimov answer here. ‘There is as yet insufficient data for a meaningful answer.’” Rowena stares. “It’s a quote from the book.”

“My son is a nerd….”

“No, your son spent a bit of time actually exploring the world while you slutted around trying to gain more power. The more you know, the more you can do, the more fun you can have. Knowledge, is power.”

“Woo. G.I. Joe.” I sing. Rowena looks flabbergasted and confused. Bobby just takes another sip.

“Wasn’t that before your time Bec?”

“Yeah, the quote never died though Bobby. Crowley, can you just...impart pop culture knowledge into her brain?”

“Yes, but-”

“Nay, you’ll not be filling my head with that rubbish!” Crowley gestures to his mother.

“And since when do you listen to anyone?” Asks Bobby. Crowley pauses.

“True.” And leans over to his mother and taps her forehead.

“Ow! Oh…. That’s quite a lot… That’s quite a lot of rubbish.”

“Oh yeah, a lot of pop culture is pretty shit.”

“What in God’s name is a Snookie?” 

“No! Don’t go down that road! Look away from the daytime TV Rowena! Just… just let’s continue the discussion and let the answers come.”

“Trust me, ya don’ wanna go down that road Rowena.” We all stare at Bobby. “What! I was at a low point in my life ok!?”

“Ok, glossing over Bobby’s love for Stepford Housewives-”

“Hey!” I chuckle at Bobby’s protest to Crowley’s comment.

“Glossing over that. Mother, what do you think now that you know what a… say a nanite is?”

“A wha- Oh. Ew. Oh. That’s...that’s one way of changing how ye look. …” She pauses for a second, then a moment. Then a minute. Going over the decades worth of science fiction knowledge she now had. “I… I can’t believe I’m sayin this but I have to agree with Fergus. Until we have somethin to compare-” I throw up my hands.

“Oh my god. You want empirical evidence! That isn’t the point of the debate! Rowena, do you ever think technology could be indistinguishable from magic?”

“To a magic user; at first glance aye, but upon scrutinizin, nay.” I hold my head in my hands. 

“Uuuugh. I agree. So much for a debate.”

“Oh no. We still have a debate.” We all look at Crowley. ‘What should I do to you for breaking into my liquor cabinet?” I swallow and take a sip of port. “Opening statements?”

Fuck.

4 Demon Spodiodi

½ Jigger Whiskey. 1 Jigger Ruby Porto. 1/4 Jigger Iron Tonic Syrup or blood if you 

have some handy. (Iron supplements ground with mortar and pestle work as well. 

Mix with port, strain.)

Mix together in a glass. Drink warm, no ice.

5 The Crowley

This is not for human consumption, it is theoretical. Don’t try. I tried it. I regret it.

  
  
  



	36. The Rules of Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things go awry and we meet the outcomes of a past deal.

It’s a monthly routine. Crowley hates it. I find it fascinating even after 300 years. We sit in the court with his three other advisors and the two demons chosen to give this month’s reports and problems. Whoever fucked up the most in management the previous month got the job. It is not sought after so it had to be based on a ‘voluntold’ basis. And it was not sought after for a very good reason. The demons who gave the report often died. 

If you were boring. If you took too long. If there were things on the list that didn’t need to be. If Crowley was in a bad mood. 

You died. 

Ranni stands to Crowley’s right with a clipboard. She is trying to keep a straight face but the two demons who are giving the report this month are two she particularly despises. So if they die, or even better, get eaten, she would be ecstatic. Crowley...is bored. 

He had managed to organize things, after a couple hundred years, so that there were fewer things on his agenda. He had implemented a judge to deal with problems between demons, a D&D player who only ever played a lawful neutral character. Who got his jollies dishing out punishment to people who were too stupid, cowardly, and petty to resolve things themselves. He knew how to deal with that, he was a high school teacher after all. Problems only went to Crowley if judge Judy from Hell couldn't figure it out, and that meant they were interesting. 

He still had 76 things to deal with today though. If any had to do with demons stealing babies, or souls, or food he was going to kill someone. Painfully and slowly, in front of the whole court. 

That is why half the court showed up. 

The demons who are giving the report stand in front of the throne. Tamandro swallows and holds up a list. 

“Item number 47. The couples’ contracts have run into a problem. Some of the humans who signed want a divorce on earth and are wondering if they can get the contract separated or annulled.” Crowley sighs. 

“No. Whoever brings me more souls while alive gets control of the other contractee’s soul when they get to Hell. If there’s a tie, they go to the library. Ranni, write up an addendum for the contract for couples and have it on my desk tomorrow to add to all future couples contracts and for any who want it now. Next.” 

These problems are too Easy. For both of us. I would have added a clause that voids the whole contract if one killed the other, or perhaps made that one a demon first, or-

“Already done. Now. Next?” The crowd shifts. There still wasn’t quite a certainty on what he was talking to, or if he was. He had kept me and Bobby, not a secret, but a mystery. Confusing. Scary. Enough for demons to not snoop lest it be them next. Still. 

The demon holding the list coughs. 

“Item 48. The lending library is running a bit low and-“

“Why?” There is a shifting in the room at the ire in Crowley’s voice.

“Sir?”

“Why? It’s not that hard of a question. Answer it or, I’ll find someone who can.” 

“I…uh.” Crowley snaps and the demon vanishes into black smoke. The scroll drops to the ground with a clatter almost covering the second snap. It echoes and the smoke vanishes in a cloud of red that bursts from Crowley and pulls it back into the King of Hell. The demon settles beside me for half a second before Crowley ‘kills’ it and it bursts into black specks which fill the red smoke next to the white and pink. It looks like a volcanic storm collecting and raining ash. 

I still don’t understand how it works. The smoke permeates every molecule, but still somehow sits in an endless world of air and sunsets where I wait and feel things through the red prison. In two existences at once I feel like an electron, unable to see where I am because I know where I’m going. I’m going wherever Crowley wants. 

He sighs, head leaning in one hand and gestures to the scroll. 

“Pick it up Samark, and either have an answer or point to someone who does.”

Ranni is trying to conceal a grin and failing. Crowley is torn between amusement, disgust, and disappointment. A demon shouldn’t show their true opinions so openly, especially when they can be used. A cool and collected demeanor meant breaking that act had more impact. However it was gratifying to see he was appreciated and worshipped. She knew both these things, she would find balance or find herself demoted. 

Samark picks up the paper, and puts it in his pocket, preferring a phone instead. He swipes quickly and swallows. 

“Sir. Uh, your kingship, it seems souls are being taken out for longer periods of time by-“

“Why is there not a time limit in place? It’s a library; you check out a book, check it back in in time, or there is a fine.”

“Uh, there is, but there is no fine that has worked so…” Crowley takes a deep breath. 

“You really couldn’t figure out...the fine is they get added to the fucking library!” The room flinches. There were a lot of problems with that. Crowley sighs again. “After they are turned human. Do I have to spell everything out! Ranni, get the architectural team working on remodeling the old church in Alberta. Call Father Brian, tell him I’m willing to renegotiate his contract if he does the cleansing rituals. One time offer.”

“Yes sir.” Ranni writes down something and Crowley exhales. You know, I thought you got smarter demons Crowley.

“Yes we’ll, not everyone has an IQ score above 100 darling. Now. Next?” Samark swallows but looks at his phone. 

“Cafeteria has run out of babies again and-“

“I told them to figure it out themselves. I made heads of staff for a reason.”

“Uh, it’s because one demon is hoarding them.”

“And you haven’t banded together and killed him because…”

“We can’t find him sir.” Wow. That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

“And you haven’t asked Rowena to help because?”

“We can’t find her e-“ What… oh shit. Crowley don’t-

“What?! This wasn’t number one on the list! That my Mother is missing!”

“I didn’t make the list sir it-“

“Find who ever did and put them in chains! And get her shadow detail here now!”

“They are dead sir. I-“ Oh my god. Idiots. 

“Morons!!! There are things that wait for a meeting! This is not one of them!” Fuck I hope Rowena is ok. Do you think fatass demon has her? Crowley takes a breath and sits back down. He had been through this before. 

“When did she go missing?”

“Three days ago. Same time as the most recent raid of the cafeteria.” Well at least Samark was smart enough to give that info without asking.

“Do you know the thieving demon’s name?”

“Uhm. No.” 

Well shit. 

“Everyone. Out. Now!” The demons quickly shuffle out. I had always wondered why they never just poofed in and out, until I looked closely at the stone work. Hundreds of very small symbols. Only the demon wearing the crown could teleport in and out of the court rooms, unless the king said it was ok. It was some very old and complex spell work. Crowley sighs and then whistles. There is a commotion outside as a few demons are growled at and one is obviously knocked over. 

Soon though the Hellhound stands in front of her master. 

“Good girl. Find Rowena.” Growley whines. “What do you mean you can’t? It’s your bloody job! Finding souls meant for Hell!” The dog whines again. “She...doesn’t have a smell? Bloody Hell mother.” 

Well at least we know she’s probably safe. Or has a plan. Only a witch could do something like that-

“No. There is warding. Very old, forbidden, locked in my private collection where no one can see it, warding.” Why? How has it not gotten out? “It was a closely kept secret of the Princes. So they could have stashes of damned souls for emergencies and remain hidden. Only one other person knew of it.” I can’t help notice that is in the past tense. “Lionel.” Ah. So who was the demon you sent to guard your stash of stuff when you were moving it? Crowley frowns. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is how long the demon who ratted me out to the British Men of Letters knew about the location and who else he told.”

I think the guard is still important too. 

“Fine. I’ll kill two birds with one stone.”

And we’re gone. 

Nevada. Crowley stands at the entrance and looks at the ground. His hunters’ bunker. He takes out his phone and dials. 

“Sara. Uncle Crowley. How was your last hunt with the peryton? Have fun? Oh, you got the antlers. Well done. Is your mother there? Of course I’ll wait darling.” It will never cease to amaze me how quickly he changes faces. Or the fact that he likes kids. “For breakfast, lunch and dinner-“ and as kids. The fact that you give them high fives and hugs doesn’t mean-

“Donna. How are you?” Our discussion is cut short by the digital arrival of Sara’s mother. Woman of Letters and current head of the bunker. “How goes- Right to the point as always. Yes, I have a job. I have a demon that is giving me trouble. Care to show Sara how to deal with one? With the added insurance of her uncle standing nearby? How about you let me in and I’ll give you all the juicy deets. I’m already here, just being polite and-“ We are standing in the center of the entryway. “-calling ahead. Well, yes also avoiding bullet holes in my suit, but still. Hello darlings.” It still unnerves me how every so often he’ll let my manner of speech through, even after hundreds of years, just to throw me off guard.

“Uncle Crowley!” 

“Bill. Sara.” A small red haired boy runs up and collides with Crowley’s knee. Crowley wanted a rapport with hunters, a multigenerational contract. Well he got it; he was known throughout America as a king who kept his word. He’d be ‘fair’ for a demon if you didn’t fuck with him. Unfortunately most hunters couldn’t not fuck with him, so there is still only one multigenerational contract. Less hunters trying to trap him though. A few times he had even been summoned without a devil’s trap. It had been a surreal experience. Them asking about a monster, or telling him about a rogue demon or two and asking for help. A few had even asked about the bunker hunters’ contract. 

I had finally figured out how he was doing contracts without taking souls and still getting the magic to work. Because he was taking a soul. Each and every one. For ten minutes. Each time the contract was re-evaluated or added on to, every soul’s echo, ten minutes. Written in the contract somewhere was a rental clause, temporary loan. Samantha, the very first one to sign, had gone over the contract with a fine tooth comb before she agreed to the binding aspect that allowed anyone who lived in the bunker to add their name. Now, hundreds of years later...

Crowley pats the child on the head and pushes him away. 

“Hello Bill. High five?” Bill complies and Crowley nods. “You’re getting stronger. You’re what, two?” Crowley, you know he’s four. 

“I’m four!”

“Oh, that means I missed a birthday, right?”

“A bajillion birthdays!”

“That’s a bit more than one or two.” Crowley snaps. “There’s a present in your room. Go!” Ah, there’s the reason for the ‘mistake’. Bill grins and scampers away. Crowley sighs and stands up. The main room hadn’t changed much, not in the strictest sense. A lot of technology had been updated, what they could update without any fear of breaking some spell. Every light now glowed with green or blue, new neon LEDs now common, and with their dual black light ability quite good at lighting up invisible traps and sigils. Like I said, not much had changed… outwardly. Crowley turns his gaze to Sara.

“Now that the liability is out of the way, where is your mother?” Sara nods and waves for Crowley to follow.. She’s a bit older than the last time we saw her, at the Thanksgiving which Crowley begrudgingly attended. Her hair is cut short, with blond tips frosted black. A few piercings cover her face and her dark black lipstick stands stark against a white tee. 

“Follow me. She’s in the dungeon with her fossil laptop.” Three years old. Three years does not a fossil make. My laptop at one point was over 7 years old, I held onto that thing like-

“How’s your pet project? Any closer to figuring out why the British Men of Letters didn’t just summon me here?” Yeah just cut off my thoughts, sure. Fine.

“No. But there’s gotta be a reason.”

“I heard you finally hacked into their old files a month ago. Find anything juicy?”

“You mean on you? Redacted. Redacted. Redacted. So much black text.”

“I notice you didn’t answer my question darling.”

“Nothing I didn’t already know about. You’re a demon. It’s like finding out your parents aren’t perfect. Uncle Crowe’s not actually nice.”

“Of course I’m nice. I’m being nice right now. No one’s dead. I’d call that very nice for a demon.”

“Yeah, but you have an ulterior motive.”

“So does everyone. Little Billy wanted a toy.”

“That’s because you bring him toys whenever you come.”

“Yes, so he doesn’t get in the way and see things he really shouldn’t. Ulterior motives all around. For instance, I have a gift for you.”

“Really?” 

“Really. LhP5$0O!Z# the name Jakobs and 8Oo0olLIii$” I laugh. Oh. That was a blast from the past. Of course you wouldn’t want a demon going through their information. 

Sara stops. The tiled hall’s murmurs and sounds are suddenly more audible without the echoes of footsteps. They fill the space as she turns around. She looks at Crowley confused and a bit annoyed. 

“The fuck is that?”

“What do they sound like darling?”

“Random numbers and names. Some gift.”

“Passwords darling. Go get rid of some black lines.” Sara blinks, eyes wide.

“How, how do you- ...what!?”

“I killed the last one in the states darling. Now, ulterior motives. Bring me the info on my old bunker and how they found out about it. What was in it. Bring your computer to….the dungeon.” Crowley watches as Sara rushes past him before he finishes talking. “You’re welcome.”

Kids. Never grateful for anything. 

“She’ll show her gratitude by finding me what I want.” He continues down the hallway, hands in pockets, listening to the ambient sounds that get louder and softer. Conversations, giggles of a young boy, cursing at some device. The sounds of life, potential. We both far preferred this to the sounds of Hell. Most everything down there sounded like a dead end. 

The dungeon gets closer and the sound of cursing and muttering becomes louder. Inside an older lady, graying hair, flannel shirt, glasses, leans over an outdated laptop. 

“Fucking talk to me you piece of-“

“Ahem.” Donna looks up at Crowley as he stands in the doorway. “Hello.”

“Crowley.”

“Why so cold? You used to love me, at what point do all of you just stop-“

“When we find out what you do. Like the fact that you ate a kid last week.” Wait what? No he didn’t… I think. 

“Was it one of yours? No. Also, goat kid. So if it was one of yours, I suggest you get checked for numerous problems, including venereal diseases.”

Donna stares. 

“Really? And why should I believe you? About it being a goat.”

“Don’t. Don’t believe anything, but especially don’t believe rumors. Verify. Now. I have a problem. A demon may have leaked some information that I need unleaked, especially since whoever took my Mother is using it to hide her.” Donna blinks. 

“Someone took Rowena?”

“She’s missing. So either she was taken or she ‘took’ herself. I don’t care for either of those so I want to find her before whatever scheme is in the works can’t be stopped.”

“Scheme?”

“There is always a scheme. Now. We need to summon a demon, so I can find another demon and my mother. You can kill them both-“ 

“Aren’t they your employees?” Says Sara as she walks in with a laptop that looks far sleeker and more advanced than anything I had when I was alive. Quantum computing in a secondary motherboard. Jeez. 

“Yes they work for me, but not all of them are good employees. Now, did you find anything?”

“Demon’s name was Archibald. Couldn’t get in himself, went to the British looking to split what was inside. They got the info and killed him.”

Crowley frowns. That’s what Jakobs had said, but he had doubted that. Apparently torture under duress works occasionally. That meant this other demon was his only chance. Ok. The recent guard, let’s go. 

“Alright then. Let’s summon Dante.”

“What, like The Dante?” Crowley frowns disappointedly at Sara. 

“No. Here’s the symbol.”

“And you can’t do this because?”

“Human blood. Also, if he’s in a warded area, my skills don’t bypass that, this should.”

“So even the King of Hell has limits.”

“Everything has limits, it’s our purpose to break them. So, let’s push his a little shall we? Summon him.”

“Why?” Crowley looks at Sara. 

“What do you mean why? Because I told you to. This is a job. It’s in the contract. I ask you to do a job, you do a job. I ask you to eat dogs until you puke, you can ignore me, as long as it’s not integral to A JOB! Donna, the ingredients are here, the circle is here, your blood, I hope, is here. So…. Summon. Him.” 

“Fine. But why is Sara here?”

“She’s a growing lady, I figured she should learn how to torture a demon.”

“You’re gonna teach us how to torture a demon? The guys who work for you?” Sara says confusedly. 

“If they get caught by a hunter they aren’t very good demons are they? They deserve it. They know that. I’ve told them.” Yeah the only way they survive coming back after giving up info is if they come back to Crowley with the hunter’s head. And if they come back with one of These hunters heads...well it hasn’t happened yet. “Besides, Donna will be teaching, I’ll be watching. Unless you want-”

“No. Step back Crowley unless you want me to show her how to torture a demon using you.” Oh. Oh bad play Donna. Now that he could walk out of traps…

“I’ll gladly make this a date night as long as I can change into something, or someone, more comfortable first. However, enough with the flirting. You have a job to do. Do it.” 

……………………

The summoning spell is done and we watch as an older African man appears in the trap. His hair is beautiful dark pepper gray, his skin is wrinkled and freckled with age spots. His eyes are black. 

“Dante. Pleasure.”

“My king.” The demon looks around nervously at his surroundings, and the hunters. 

“You’re going to answer some questions for me, or I’m gonna let my friends here have some fun.”

“Yes my king.”

“Very good. While you were guarding my collection all those years ago, did you happen to I don’t know...Go in and have a look see?”

“Yes sir. I made a mental catalogue of the items and checked regularly to make sure nothing had been taken.” Well. That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. Crowley? How about you?

He ignores me. 

“Very good. And did anything go missing?”

“No sir.”

“Like say, a little book with some strange symbols?”

“No sir.”

Crowley, you know the book is there. You did inventory a decade ago and no one knows the new location. He ignores me again. 

“Did you perhaps...memorize the book?”

Silence. A brief pause but still. There we go. 

“No sir.” Crowley looks at Sara. 

“Give this man a drink, he looks thirsty.”

Sara opens the jar of holy water on the table nearby and splashes the demon. He screams in pain. Crowley watches Sara as she throws the water. 

“I’m gonna take a walk. Call me if he talks.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Asks Sara. 

“I’ll be back. Have fun kids.”

He walks out of the room quickly but casually, not leaving time for discussion. I have a lot on my mind. What does he think is goin on? Why is one demon hoarding uh…

“Food? I suppose he must be hungry.” Yeah but what would that have to do with Rowena? Unless he thought he could use her as leverage to get you to do something… that’d be stupid. He can’t destroy her as a soul so there isn’t much that can be threatened. She is used to torture. And you could care less if she isn’t. 

“True. I’m going to go with stupid demon.” I don’t know, I have a feeling. 

“No, I have your feeling, and I don’t agree. So-“

“Uncle Crowley!” Coming around the corner is a tall young man with glasses and sandy red hair. He is skinny with freckles and a baseball cap to complete a very ‘college senior’ look. 

“Ed.” Ed, one of George’s descendants, holds out his hand for a high five. Crowley chuckles and shakes his head a bit. 

“C’mon, you only give them out to anyone below the age of 10?”

“Yes.”

“C’mon.” Crowley sighs but aquieces. I think he just puts on a show of not liking it honestly. He liked human interaction, as long as it isn’t unwarranted affection and the human isn’t stupid.

Ed is not stupid. Ed is the Bunker’s current spell guy. He is someone Croney would like, he is trying to make new spells. 

It isn’t obvious at first glance but Ed’s entire neck has scars and burns from an attempt at spell making gone horribly wrong. He also has an ear made of copper. A working ear that he hides behind his red sandy hair and a cap that tilts to that side. 

“So, what brings you here?”

“Business as usual. Death, killing, murder.”

“Any of those synonyms include a job for me?”

“Fraid not. Unless you’ve invented a spell that can locate someone without traces or knowing who they are? Or one that can locate a soul, not a ghost, a soul. Probably inside warding. Got any of those handy?” Crowley asks, not expecting an answer. 

“No. But that’s an interesting puzzle to work on. I’ll get on it.”

“Sure, just ‘get on’ figuring out something that warlocks have been attempting for centuries.”

“Well, I managed to turn an almond into a peanut last week.” Crowley blinks. 

“What, why?”

“Not allergic to peanuts. Gonna try something like...a banana next.” Crowley stares, intrigued and a bit concerned. How...How hard is it to change something soulless into something else?

“It’s impossible.”

“Yeah, well, I never liked that word.” Crowley looks at the young man. He had just turned 21, he hadn’t signed the contract yet. Yet. Crowley...what are you thinking?

“Can I interest you in a-“

“Nope.” Crowley exhales and pauses for a second.

“You don’t even know what-“

“Contract, that’s what you were going to say.” He’s got you Crowley. He’s smarter than me, he’s not just gonna sign. Crowley doesn’t miss a beat. Hands in pockets he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, looking up at the young man as tall as Moose. Giving off an air of casual business. This was not casual. 

“No. Internship. With one, perhaps two, very powerful witches and a warlock.” Ed pauses. 

“What’s the catch?”

“You work for me.”

“No.” Dude, he is shutting you down, just have him sign the regular contract. Ease him into it with easier jobs. I can feel the begrudging agreement, but... 

“Well, how about you sign the contract your family normally does, for starters. Then agree to sign another one, which we will both go over and agree to, if you wish to continue after the first lesson with each of your tutors.” Ed’s eyes narrow again and then he smiles. He’s amiable, but quick. 

“What’s the real catch then? Why would I even entertain signing a different contract?” 

“Well, one is in Hell for a reason. As one of the first witches she did rather atrocious things. The warlock, well, he may take a bit of convincing.”

Crowley. Three years ago. You ate the warlock. All of him. You made me watch. With the fucking clotted cream while you-

“Forget the warlock. He’s indisposed.” Disposed, try disposed of. “The other, mummy dearest, is missing. I’m trying to find her. Working diligently you might say.” Ed’s eyes widen. 

“Did...did you say first...and Rowena?”

Oh. Hook line and sinker. Be gentle Crowley. 

“I don’t do gentle Chew Toy. Now, think on it Ed. You have my number.” Crowley pats Ed on the shoulder as he walks past the stunned young man. I shake my head. Seriously Crowley. How could you Forget Anton? Why did you even kill him? 

“He didn’t like part of the new deal. Said, and I quote ‘eat me.’ So I did.” No, he said you could take the new deal and eat it. “Well, he was holding it at the time, I missed.” If I had eyes, I would roll them. Why did you change the deal though? It was fine! ... Wasn’t it? 

“No. It wasn’t. He was supposed to alert me of anything interesting in France. I’d call the possibility of a psychic vampire interesting.” Wait. Psychic vampire? Like energy draining? Crowley sighs in annoyance.

“If you’re thinking of those humans who just make people tired, no. It’s a type of witch or warlock. This is the only magic they know, and they know it innately starting at thirtyish. Skips every three generations. The witches give gifts, favors, money; and when they do that they create a bond through the sense of obligation to return the favor. That bond only grows stronger with time until they have adoring masses. What they can do with those bonds, is dangerous.” Wait...what? 

Crowley takes a deep breath. Whatever these witches were, they’re apparently powerful enough to concern him. Either for the safety of the world or himself.

“Imagine if Hell could collect souls and grow in power, but the souls just...stayed on earth. Ready to be turned into demons or power at a thought.” Ok. Yeah. That sounds terrifying. And you didn’t tell me about this because… 

“I sent the hunters. Paid for their flights. Full vacation in France. Baguettes and cigarettes all around after they killed the politician. Either way, Anton failed to mention it. I had to find out when a contract with one of their bonded souls failed to activate after ten years. That’s another problem. While bonded, those humans shrug off every other supernatural thing like water.” Didn’t shrug off bullets I assume. 

“No. They did not. Nor did the Warlock.” Yeah but did Anton know about them, or didn’t tell you? 

“I didn’t ask. His mouth was a bit busy at the time anyway. As was mine.” Yeah, for a week. Busy screaming and sucking o- “Well, he always did want me to suck on a bone of his.” I don’t think he meant the tibia Crowley. “Then he should have been more specific.”

He cuts off the conversation as we turn back into the dungeon. We are met with a silent demon and a fair bit of blood. Sara and Donna stand, glaring at him. Crowley walks in and looks between all three of them. 

“Trouble in the dungeon?”

“He won’t talk.” Crowley sighs and steps forward. 

“Let’s see how he deals with a professional.”

“We are professionals.”

“You’re amateurs. Now. Dante. You know what I do to people who betray me.”

“Yes sir.”

“And yet here we are.”

“I fear nothing.”

“Really? How about a tarrasque?”

“A...what?” Crowley touches the temple of the demon tied to the chair and puts all of my memories of that beast’s stomach. Of slowly losing yourself over eons. Dante shakes his head free of the images and frowns. 

“No.”

“Well. You must be afraid of something or you would be telling me what I want to know. Either that or you’re stupid enough to think you may get out of this to get your reward from them.”

“No sir.”

Shit. This was a problem. A demon who doesn’t fear dying or nonexistence and doesn't want anything. That...doesn’t feel possible... Is he damaged? Under a spell? Wait, we don’t know what he wants yet, do we?

“Just realized that now Chew Toy? Be quiet, you seem a bit slow today. So Dante, what do you want?”

The demon is silent. So he does want something...or fears something. 

Greed. Pride. What is his sin? He seemed prideful of his work, I meant he went the extra mile to make sure none of your shit was stolen...even if he snooped a bit. So maybe being forgotten...no. Having his work undone? Being overshadowed? Maybe it had something to to with the food, or-

“Shut up Chew Toy, it has nothing to do with the food.” There is a twitch from the demon. You might be wrong Crowley. You sure you wanna bring that up here though, in front of two allies? They might not like the cafeteria’s meal plan. Crowley stops his pacing and looks at the demon. 

“Or perhaps he is just unnerved at the one sided conversation. Let’s try this again. You aren’t afraid of me. You should be. I will take everything you are and destroy it. Your past. Your present. Your future. Your work. Your friends. Your family. All traces of you and anything you’ve even thought of, gone. And I’ll make you watch. I’ll make you feel it. You will be wide awake as I slowly pick apart everything atom by atom. Then I’ll sit you in a pretty little jar to watch as the world moves on without you.” Dante takes a deep breath but stays quiet. Sara snorts. 

“I haven’t started yet darling. This is foreplay. Prep work. Tenderizing. Demons can be a bit different. Some like the pain. Some like the verbal torture. I haven’t found out what he doesn’t like yet, give me time. So… we just have to find what makes this one tick, or fall back on my plan B.”

“And that is?” Asks Sara rolling her eyes.

“You leave and I-“

“Nuhuh. We ain’t leaving you alone.”

“Then you get to see what a messy eater I am. You really want to watch that? I didn’t bring napkins.” As he talks he keeps a half glance on Dante. He doesn’t flinch, he stares straight ahead as best he can with a quickly swelling right eye. “It just takes so long. I’d prefer to just get answers now.”

“Eating...takes a while? What are you, a snake?” Huh...that could be an apt comparison. 

“No, well… it’s about meal prep. Now-“

“You're on a deadline. I have a bargaining chip. That’s why I’m not scared, sir.” Crowley pauses and turns slowly. A smart demon. He had wanted smart demons. This is what that got you. 

“Shut up Chew Toy.“ He turns and walks to the front of the problematic demon. He stands, hands in pockets,swallowing and settling his jaw, distracting himself from the rage for a moment. He takes a breath, and begins the game. “You know what information I want. You want something in return. You know that, unlike Lucifer, I keep my deals. So...talk to me.”

“Two things, you don’t kill, destroy, eat, or imprison me, sir.”

“That’s a lot of things.” The demon sneers. 

“It’s under one category. I also want to know how you got your powers. Your current powers.”

God. He’s so smart and so dumb. Wording wording wording. 

“Done. I’ll take you on my next trip to one of the numerous sources of my greatness. Now. The book? Who did you tell about it, its contents, why, and Where Are They?” The floor cracks a bit with his anger, the devil’s trap fracturing. Crowley sighs and snaps, fixing it with a clenched jaw. He looks with a lowered gaze at the object of his contempt and anger, and waits with raised brows. 

“Rowena. I gave her the info on the symbol. Three weeks ago. She said it was for something for you. You’d had a good rapport for I dunno, a good hundred years, so-“

“Always check. So. Who is she working with? Where are they?”

“Don’t know and don’t know. Now let me out.”

“No.” The demon’s eyes widen at this supposed betrayal of his promise. Crowley shakes his head. “I’m not imprisoning you. They are. And I still have questions.” Idiot. Even I saw that loophole. I see three others. Idiot. Like me. Just smart enough to get in trouble. “Even my Chew Toy thinks you’re stupid. But she had an IQ score of 150 and I doubt you break 105.” Crowley. It’s not 150. Don’t oversell me. I’ll just come up short and that's embarrassing for both of us. “Either way, high pedigree. You. Not so much.” He starts circling again as I sigh at Crowley’s mention of me. High pedigree, right. Like he actually thought that of me. I am ignored as he circles. 

“Wallace Gundering. Born in Wisconsin to an insignificant family in an insignificant town. You led an insignificant life. You played insignificant video games until you joined the army to fight in an insignificant war. Sold your soul to survive an insignificant neck wound. Met an insignificant woman. Had some insignificant kids. Only thing that was interesting about you to the world above was your mysterious death. By Hellhound. Now you and your insignificant self want to finally be... not insignificant. I can help. It’ll go faster if you help me. So, if you have even an insignificant idea about where they are...tell me.” Dante stares, and swallows, suddenly less confident. 

“Uhm. It might have been Jarrod with her sir. Don’t know where they went.” Crowley turns before Dante has even finished and walks away, getting out his phone. The dossier on Jarrod is up in moments. 

“One hundred thirty years old. Sold his soul for never leaving a trace at a crime scene. Vice was stealing. Notorious theft of expensive foods. Recruited for food acquisitions. Went missing from active roster...two weeks ago. Part of the thieves guild-“ wait there’s an actual thieves guild? “With the demons I recruited, of course. So, I know all their safe houses, but perhaps not their personal ones.” He’s been dialing for a moment now, a very very long number that can’t be one that works. But he presses dial and it rings. 

“Smoke. How are you? No, you’re right, I don’t really care. What will it cost to find out one of the guild members personal hideouts? Oh, I know it’s not for sale, that only means it’s not cheap. What will it cost? … … …. Fine. I’ll send you one fourth of my collection. No. One. Fourth... Smoke. Out of respect for your abilities and the amount of time it would take to track you down, I’m being nice. I don’t have to be. So... One... Fourth. ….Good. Jarrod. Where?” There is mumbling, and I can make out some coordinates. The voice is rough and scratchy. It speaks quickly, then grunts a confirmation and hangs up. Crowley sighs and slips his phone in his pocket. Well, where are they?

“The border of Hell. For Demons.” Hell, for demons? “The Vatican.” Fuck no. Why? That sounds like the most annoying and dangerous place to be. “Exactly.” I can't believe it. It just doesn’t seem right. And why is Rowena helping this...baby stealer? Lunch thief? 

“Let’s find out. But first…” Oh god Crowley you don’t have time. He smiles and turns back to the dungeon. “I have a few minutes, enough for a quickie.” He looks at Sara and Donna, who are returning the gesture with great annoyance and confusion. 

“Get what you want?”

“Almost Donna. I can actually go find mommy dearest now, but I can’t take this one with me.”

“You want us to babysit? No.”

“Who said anything about sitting? No, Sara, you stand while you make art, and I’m about to hand you a very pretty paintbrush. Which, I will show you how to use.” He snaps and a scalpel appears in his hand. 

“Yeah, we got one of those.”

“Not like this. You see…” he walks up to Dante and holds the scalpel under his nose. The demon inhales and tenses, swallows and looks the King of Hell in the eye. “There is a type of pain that most demons can’t get pleasure from. Withstand, sure. Ignore. No.”

“We had a deal.” Says Dante. 

“That said nothing about torture. Or having someone else kill you. You really thought you could out maneuver me? Me!” The scalpel is driven into the tender flesh of the right eye and the demon screams. Crowley has been quite nicely hiding his anger at the incompetence he’d witnessed today. He was going to finally let go for a bit. Just a bit. 

“You crossed me! So, I’m going to play with you for a bit. They’re going to tenderize you further. And then I’ll take you to my favorite restaurant, as promised.” The demon’s eyes go wide. I sigh and tense, readying myself for the blood. The further feeling of flesh and bone against metal. 

“But you said-“

“Ah ah. Food doesn’t talk back.” The mouth is held open and the scalpel is deftly used. Dante struggles but his jaw doesn’t move an inch in Crowley’s grasp. The flesh feels bumpy and rough as he wiggles and retracts, trying to make it difficult. It doesn’t matter. Soon enough there is a splat and the tip of a tongue lands on the table nearby, the demon’s mouth now too full of blood to speak. 

“Unlike a lot of women I know, and now you, I swallow. I have a friend who can do the chewing for me if my jaw is tired from dealing with Stupid Demons not worth the Dicks they’re attatched to!” Each word is punctuated by a slice of flesh. I can almost pretend it’s just clay. Just wet clay and a clay knife. Just sculpting. If it wasn’t for all the red and the screaming I could almost believe it is just clay... Crowley sighs and turns. Looking at the two women behind him. Donna is unmoved. Sara’s face is blank in an attempt to tell herself she isn’t horrified. The scalpel is set down with a small clink. 

“Melted down Angel Blade. I’ll be back for it, and him, in a day or so. In the meantime, practice cutting off small body parts. Try parts of an organ or two as long as you sew him back up. That’s how you torture a demon. Very different from living things. You were far too light with your paint brush Sara. Time to grow up and get messy.” Crowley snaps and his hands are clean, and he is gone. 

Rude way to leave them, Crowley. 

“Don’t particularly care. I made my point.” I roll my eyes, enjoying the view and trying to push the feel of flesh under a knife from my mind. “You enjoy it.” If it was with a sword and a fair fight, maybe. Maybe if it was a nice dead steak. Like that, no. 

Crowley of course maneuvers me into place to protect him the moment we land. We are in one of the most holy places on earth after all. The towers and whiteness and fresh air of the Vatican are beautiful. I wonder if Crowley had ever been inside before. If they had traps. Either way, it isn’t why we are here. We are going to the coordinates sent to us. 

They lead to a bridge, specifically one underneath a park. There is a small door, probably not even visible to humans, that is easily broken open with a snap. He steps inside without fear and looks around 

The inside is dark, the light switch doesn’t work. It doesn’t bother Crowley of course. What does bother him is that the place seems to be empty. He takes a deep breath and hits redial on his phone. 

“Smoke. He’s not here. ...what do you mean what day is it up here?...He changes his base every Tuesday? ...And this Wasn’t important to tell me because!?! Well, do you know his other bases? … Text it to me. Now. ...Smoke. You even begin to ask for more compensation and I will send every Hellhound I have to eat you slowly, while I watch, and then put the smoke they shit out into a lava lamp! Text it to me!” He hangs up, rigid with anger. All I can think about is Crowley in the 60’s. What the Hell did he wear?

“Suits don’t go out of style, Chew Toy.” He looks at his phone as it buzzes. A list of fourteen other coordinates appear. Time to get to work. 

………………….

A day later. All the places visited. All empty. Crowley is incensed. I’m a little mad too. This place is gorgeous and I’m getting to see sewers and tunnels and abandoned buildings. Smoke has no more ideas and Crowley has none either, which means…

“Chew toy. Have an idear for me?” First, try summoning him. Then if that doesn’t work, get your snack and a professional. “I don’t really want my hunters to know that the problem is about a certain delicacy amidst demons.” You have another professional Crowley, at the restaurant you mentioned. 

He pauses and a slight smirk appears on his face as he steps into the ether. He doesn’t bother calling this time. He just appears in the dungeon. 

Sara jumps and slits the demon’s lip. Crowley looks around her at Dante, to see how ‘well’ she’d done. He shakes his head. She was being light, far too kind and gentle with her torture. That type of work may work on a layman, an average joe off the street, but not anyone trained or hardened, and definitely nothing that wasn’t human. 

“He has all of his fingers. Why wouldn’t you take the thumbs? Disappointed Sara.” She growls. 

“And what if I do have to do this to you? Hmm? You really telling me you’d be fine without your thumbs?” Oh Sara. He can grow them back, or snap yours. 

“I’ll happily return and sit in that chair for a few hours darling. As long as you let me sit in it au natural. The cold metal brings that extra bit of zing to the experience. Also, the suit is expensive.” You can fix the suit with a thought now Crowley. Sara sneers. 

“You can keep your underwear. I don’t need to see your tiny fucking dick saluting me.”

“What underwear? Too restricting.” Lie. You love silk. “Besides, you couldn’t come near the amount of pain I like Sara. Now, in exchange for sitting in that chair, I’d like you to do another summoning for me.” Sara blinks, then recoils. 

“You’re fucking serious?”

“Don’t flirt if you aren’t willing to follow through. Especially with a demon.” 

“Yeah, well, chair is ocupado, so no summoning.” Crowley looks around Sara at Dante again.

“It’s fine. He won’t need a chair. Here’s the symbol, again.” Sara glares, but takes the piece of paper from Crowley. “Darling, this is a mutually beneficial arrangement. What happened to the eagerness you had when I gave you those passwords?”

“I read the redacted files, with images.” She is still frowning but is setting up the spell begrudgingly. Crowley, what was in those files?

“Oh? I’m a bit curious myself. What’s dampened your love for ‘Uncle Crowe?’”

“Of what you did to Jacobs.”

“So they did get the selfie.” She snarls but cuts her hand and mutters the incantation. The bowl flares up as usual, and then it flares a bright green. Sparks fly and there is a sizzling as the bowl melts and there is a puff of smoke. 

No demon appears.

Crowley sighs and snaps. The circle breaks and the ankle cuffs around Dante snap open.

“Time for our lunch date darling.” Dante swallows but stands up and walks out. As soon as his feet are over the circle Crowley snaps and it’s fixed. He looks at Sara for a moment and then raises his hand. “Keep me updated on anything interesting you find in that archive.”

“Wait. Uh...I don’t...understand all these references to eating.” Crowley pauses. So...Donna hadn’t told her daughter yet. Wait, did Donna fully know? He lowers his hand and walks back toward Sara, pointedly walking to the center of the trap, looking around, and picking up the scalpel she had dropped. He wiggles it as he shows her. 

“Take better care of my things next time. I take care of you after all.”

“I’m not one of your ‘things’.” She says with a sneer. 

“Yet. Now…” He walks out of the trap and points the scalpel at her. “ If you ever find yourself with a demon or monster and Without a way to kill them? Call me. We’ll do lunch. See you soon for our date.” He snaps and both the demon and him are gone.


	37. The Sapphire Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find the culprits.

We step out into the familiar hallway, growls emanate briefly from the two hellhounds at the unfamiliar demon before they smell their king. Crowley walls down the way with Dante in tow, bloody and haggard but not too much worse for wear, much to Crowley disappointment. He’d have to remedy that later. Dan steps out of the shadows. He looks no different after the hundreds of years, perhaps a bit more tired around the eyes. Those eyes narrow at the guest.

“Who’s the demon?”

“A failure attempting to fix the fact that he’s a failure.” Dante swallows but walks forward.

“And he succeedin?”

“No. Is my ghost hunter there? Dragoness?”

“Yes, I just stepped out to get some air that didn’t smell like pine and blood.”

“I suppose sulfur could be a reprieve to some.” We reach the door at this point and Crowley looks from Dante to the gaping hole and back. “You wanted to know the source of my power? Well, one of them is inside. As promised.” Dan’s eyes widen, and then he huffs a laugh as the demon steps in. 

“I ain’t seein him again, am I?”

“Do you really have to ask?” Dan rolls his eyes and steps through the door as well. Crowley takes one more look to make sure the hounds are doing their job and follows suit. 

On the other side Dragoness sits curled like a wall around Bobby and Dante. Her head low and listening eagerly to some story or other as Dante stares. He is being quite pointedly ignored while Bobby finishes his tale.

“And the dick didn’t even call. He left me with a Hell of a mess; two strigoi, one pregnant and hungry, and a fucking idiot cult providen’ them food! I fuckin high tailed it outta there. Came back with a silver shrapnel bomb made outta my best silverware. Killed the vetalas, half the cult, and a dog they had too. Was a horrid weekend that was supposed to be spent fishin! And that’s where this stupid scar on my hand is from. Cut it puttin the bomb together.”

“Not the vetala Robert, but your own clumsiness was what caused your injury? I find that a bit hard to believe.”

“Well, it’s what happened.” At this point Bobby takes a big breath and turns to the hole into Hell and the king. “Crowley, who’s the friend?”

“Someone who wanted to see where my power came from.”

“And yer just gonna show him?”

“Yes. Show is an apt term.” Dragoness is grinning and regarding the demon.

“Well, spawnling demon. Have you come to dance the dance of death? The thin line between success and failure? How do you think your steps are so far? Have you found the beat, or have you been left behind, confused and dazed?” Dante just looks quietly at the dragon, in awe.

“I believe I lost my way at the last song ma’am, and I shall never find the beat again.” The dragon chuckles.

“He is eloquent Crowley, may I not keep him?”

“If he survives the demonstration, why not.” He’s not gonna survive the demonstration, Crowley. I sigh as the demon sighs, in tandem, him not knowing whether to be hopeful, and me knowing that he should not be. 

“So why are you here? A demonstration? You could do that easily enough without me King of Hell.”

“I made a deal that I wouldn’t kill him.” Both Dragoness and Bobby look at Crowley for a moment, and then Dragoness shakes the clearing with laughter.

“A poorly worded one I assume. Oh little spawnling demon, you attempted to make a deal with my protege’ how amusing. Let us see how this ends.”

Protege? Oh…. Oh no. Oh boy. 

Crowley pushes me down to parse through my thoughts later, going as fast as they are, they are probably a bit hard to follow. He looks up as Dragoness blows fire into being, exuding her soul for all to see. Dante looks in awe at the orb that floats above him for a moment, before exploding out of his body against his will as the sound of a snap echoes. The red smoke rushes out and rams into the black miasma that is the confused demon Dante. He is pile driven into Dragoness’s soul and seconds later cannot be seen at all, the red smoke surrounding the burning orb like a swarm of gnats circling a light. 

I stand in Crowley’s body, looking at the spectacle, keeping his meat suit upright for him. Bobby is rolling his eyes at the dramatics while Dragoness is watching happily, probably thinking about what that tidbit of information would do. A quick glance at me and a show of teeth confirms my theory. The smoke clears from the small sun and wisps around in the air, no black smoke in sight. Crowley rushes around a moment, setting himself up for another pile drive, at Bobby. Bobby sees the smoke coming and looks at it with such irritation and ire that I could almost believe he thought Crowley was an annoying acquaintance.

“Oh, balls.” He is swept up and away, his human form disintegrated in moments from the force. The little white orb is swiftly folded into the smoke and carried home. 

Crowley straightens as I am pushed aside and...Bobby is pushed next to me.

_“What the Hell? Crowley, why you got me-”_

“Your job description is what I want it to be Robert, you’ve been in Hell, Hell owns you. Now, I am sorry Dragoness, but I need my hunter for a bit.”

“Problems in paradise?” The smoke curling from her nostrils speaks of amusement as she holds out a claw to beckon her soul back, like a tool and not her very being.

“Yes, familial in nature, and missing.”

“ _Rowena’s missing?”_

“Among other things. So, It’s time to do your job Robert. Hunt. Let’s go find a witch, I’ll decide if I’ll burn her later.” Crowley pauses and nods to Dragoness before turning and heading toward the door. 

…………………….

“ _The fucking Vatican?”_

“Yes Robert. Now, they were in none of the hiding spots I was told of, so… Where is she?”

_“And why would I help you?”_

“Because Rowena could be in danger, and I believe you happen to like her.”

 _“She ain’t in danger. She’s in charge. If they ain’t usin specially designed bunkers that would be safer for both of them, it’s because Rowena wanted a fucking hotel.”_ He’s got a point Crowley. Look for the most expensive B&B or hotel that’s within Running distance of ground so holy You might have trouble walking on it. _“Like Bec said. Running distance of safety, but nice.”_ Crowley sighs but brings up his phone and looks up 5 star hotels or otherwise expensive places to stay. The closest to the main entrance, or at least consecrated ground, is Palazzo Cardinal Cesi. The one that closed for cardinals of the church. Four hundred dollars a night, so definitely expensive. Where did she get the money? 

“She’s a witch, she doesn’t need money.” She Needs to be careful this close to a holy place with practicing witchcraft. She really could get burned, and not by you. “Why do you think I’m in a hurry? If anyone burns her, it Will be me.”

_“Yer a sick sonova-“_

“Witch. I know. I’m trying to find her. Now. Let’s get prepared for an interesting conversation, some pleading, and lies, shall we?”

We enter, and feel a tingle. Crowley looks up and sees a ward against demons, painted quite nicely into a mural. What is it with people hiding these things? 

_“Surprise is a powerful tool.”_ Right, I forgot because they don’t fucking work anymore. We walk up into the main rooms, ignoring a glance from a tourist and looking for an attendant. We walk past a gorgeous courtyard with a lovely couple sitting at a table making eyes at each other. The waiter nearby gives us a side eye but continues on his way to...wherever the kitchen is. We find the receiving desk and again in perfect Italian, with no hint of an accent this time, Crowley speaks.

“Hello, I am looking for a friend; red hair, scottish accent, goes by Rowena perhaps.” The attendant pauses but smiles at Crowley’s own charming gaze.

“I believe someone of that description is indeed staying here, but I can’t really tell you where sir. I can call her room though.” Crowley pauses and then smiles.

“Of course, tell her Robert Singer is here. It’s a bit urgent.”

 _“The Hell Crowley?!”_ Crowley doesn’t react, just smiles, hands in pockets as the attendant dials. _“Crowley! Don’t drag me into this bullshit!”_ I feel a bit of a jolt and sigh. Crowley hated talking mentally, absolutely never did it unless he had to. So, I am supposed to convince Bobby Singer to play along. And I am being told to talk mentally too. _“You can try Bec, but I ain’t helpin-”_

 _“Let me put it this way Bobby. This is about food theft, demon food. As in children, babies. They could still be alive, or they could-”_ I can feel Robert change his priorities immediately. 

_“Fine. If Crowley promises to return the kids that are there, alive and unharmed, to where they belong or somewhere safer.”_ We both feel a slight affirmation from the King of Hell as he waits, and listens, to the phone call. He can hear both sides, there is a male voice currently, going in and out, talking to someone else there. The phone is held out.

“They wish to hear from you sir.” Crowley smiles and mouths something to the attendant, who smiles and chuckles. A prank indeed. You’re up Bobby, Crowley can imitate your voice, but he can’t prove he’s you, you’re gonna have to figure something out.

_“Yeah Yeah.”_

Crowley holds the phone up and let’s Bobby do the talking. There are a few things that Demons just Can’t say after all. Well, one.

“Rowena, I-”

“How do we know it’s you? Why are you here?” The voice is gruff and curt, short and nervous.

Bobby sighs and says one word. 

“Christo. Happy?” Crowley twitches a bit but there is silence on the other end for a moment and Crowley chuckles silently. The silence stretches...but.

“Room 5.” The phone goes dead and Crowley hands the square box back to the attendant, smiling. Phones are so advanced now. The most expensive ones didn’t even place calls, just showed holograms of each person. 

“Thanks, this is going to be such a surprise for them. I got here early.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you.”

_“Yeah, sure. Let’s get this over with princess.”_

Room 5 isn’t far, as in a few turns away from the desk. Crowley stands in front of the door and knocks. And waits. And waits. And sighs before breaking the door knob and walking in. 

His mother and the other demon are on the other side. His mother is sitting in a chair. Her dress has sigils on it, as does the floor. The demon is sitting outside the devils trap which has been recently broken. That’s why we couldn’t sense or summon either of them. Rowena looks up from her book and nods. Bobby growls out the question. 

“Where are the children?” Jarrod smirks at Bobby’s voice. 

“They were delicious.” Bobby festers and snarls, but Crowley is in control despite the occasional allowance to use his tongue. 

“No Jarrod, they weren’t.” Jarrod stiffens at the sound of Crowley’s voice. “Now. How about you both explain what the Hell is going on before I destroy you for wasting my time!”

“Fergus. I was gettin tired hearin about babies and eatin em. I dinnae like it.”

“Neither do I. Stopping a full life from forming in favor of a meal that is barely aware enough to know what it is, I find it a bit short sighted, wasteful, and a favorite among demons. So, I created a branch to deal with it. Not me. So the fact that I am currently HAVING TO DEAL WITH IT, it is quite annoying.”

“Fergus, I-”

“I don’t care mother.” Crowley looks to the demon to his right and snaps. The demon goes up in smoke, or the body does. The smoke is directed as usual without much thought by Crowley sending out red smoke and grabbing it. Back once again in his body, Crowley looks at the witch in the chair. “Mother, where is the food?”

“You mean the babies.” Crowley sighs and sneers.

“Yes mother. The babies. Where are they?”

“And why should I tell ye?” Crowley snaps, completely done with this event and Rowena explodes, a shower of purple sparks. No smoke, no soul. An illusion. Crowley stares. 

Really, you thought she’d buy the fact that Bobby escaped?

_“It was kinda thin Crowley. Even I could-”_

“Shut up. Both of you.” With a thought he’s in an alley on the street below, and quickly heading for Saint Peter’s Square. His mother had a head start, and he did not know what she was planning. He quickly pushes the shower curtain called Chew Toy into place as per usual, and quickens his pace. He didn’t have a contract with Bobby after all, he couldn’t wear him, just give him brief control of the body. He most definitely was not going to try to step foot on that holy soul without some human protection. The fact that he is heading toward it at all is a testament to his anger. A spell bag is produced from his pocket and held onto for a moment. 

“Ego quaerere in lumine.” A light of red flashes in the distance and Crowley actually grumbles deep in his throat. No one could make you angry like family after all. Rowena is most certainly heading for safety like he had guessed. If she reached certain parts of the Vatican, he would most likely not be able to follow. He takes a step and vanishes, appearing to the right of the square behind an informational pavilion. He walks quickly across the street and into the square hoping to head her off. The first step into it burns as any consecrated ground does, mildly for Crowley, even less so with me. He rushes toward the glowing red mane that is quickly walking toward the basilica. Rowena turns and sees the black suit and familiar face and breaks into a run. Crowley curses and mimics her. She runs past the obelisk and Crowley follows, each step burning slightly more. 

One step too close to the obelisk and suddenly he doubles over in pain, one knee on the ground. Every soul in agony as fire and rage fills and burns him.

“Signore! Signore?” A man runs up and leans over hand touching Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley looks up at the man, eyes red for a half second. The man recoils and Crowley blinks, shaking his head and covering his face as he stands.

“Sto bene. Sto bene!” The man nods, backing away and doubting what he had seen. Crowley looks for the red glow only he can see, apparently judging by the lack of reaction from the crowd, and frowns as it disappears into the basilica. He walks forward, ready for the intense pain this time and continues towards his mother.

 _“What is she doin’ with the kids anyway?”_ Crowley doesn’t respond. As he walks further from the obelisk the pain lessens, and I wonder what is in it. _“Piece a the true cross supposedly. Looks like it isn’t so supposed.”_ Huh. Well, I wonder what that means about religion, Jesus, the trinity. _“Does it matter? People believe and it hurts him, so in my book, that’s pretty damn holy.”_ I guess. 

As we get closer to the basilica the pain increases again, this time worse than before. Crowley eventually stops at the steps, and looks inward. He puts a single toe on a step and the shoe bursts into flames before he quickly douses it with a thought. 

He could withstand that pain; his suit, his body, wouldn’t. They’d have to be repaired constantly, taking a lot of focus. It would also be damn noticeable, walking around like a fucking candle. 

“Bollocks.” Crowley takes out his phone and opens his contacts, searching for a moment before calling. 

“Father Pietro. Long time no see. Yes, we had an agreement, I don’t come near the Vatican, you- well. Call off your priests. I am not here to start trouble, I’m here to stop it. There is a witch, someone who has crossed me and can cause a lot of trouble for both of us, currently attempting to find sanctuary within the basilica. I want her. I will take her off your hands, whisk her away, punish her, burn her at the stake for you even. However, in honor of our agreement, and of not terrifying your patrons by walking around in a blaze of unholy glory, I’m calling you. Of course she is guilty, she’s a witch. ...She has killed at least 500 people in her very long century spanning life. Is that enough? … Rowena. Oh. You have heard of her. Good. Yes, she still has red hair. I will be waiting in the...Fine. Call me. I’ll just take in the sights. Get a bite to eat. ...No promises on not tempting anyone father. I have my job, you have yours.” Crowley hangs up and looks at the young child staring at him, he flashes his red his eyes and walks away, smiling slightly at the sound of crying behind him.

 _“You got guys on the inside?”_ Selling sin to saints for centuries, Bobby. He has ‘guys’ everywhere. _“Point. So, what are you getting to eat? More babies?”_ Crowley is silent, walking through the square quickly, looking at the city that hasn’t changed despite the world around it. The sting of the holy is in the air in this city, like a few others on earth, and Crowley is not very pleased with being here on business that will not yield new rewards. 

We spend the next three hours at Antico Caffe San Pietro with coffee that was bought solely for the use of the table, at least after smelling the coffee. It is apparently not up to his standards, but it was the closest restaurant open to the Vatican that wasn’t a food truck. 

We get the call as he is tentatively sniffing the coffee again out of sheer boredom.

“Father Pietro. I hope it is good news? Oh? Well, I understand you not wanting to come face to face with the King of Hell. Image and all that. I’m sure you can hire someone to walk her over to...She’s unconscious. Father Pietro, what brutality. Ah, I suppose she might run into a wall at the sight of another witch catcher collar. Where ever did you find one? I’ll happily buy it- fine. Just...prop her in a wheelchair and bring her to your church's hotel. Of course she’s staying there, it’s expensive. One hour, cover her red hair with a hat, sunglasses- Of course you know what you're doing but as someone far more versed in trafficking bodies I believe I have a bit more experience than the bloody Vatican...I hope. As I said. An hour. Ciao.”

 _“She ran into a fucking wall?”_ Something is off. _“I’d say.”_ We both feel confirmation from Crowley as we head back to the hotel.

We settle into the room after flashing a room key taken from the demon and giving instructions to the desk attendant. Crowley takes the time to look around what must have been Rowena and Jarrod’s room for some time. He’s kept Jarrod alive, for now, sequestered away in another stomach I suppose. Crowley looks around the room; thin holy papers and gold leaf sit on the desk. Tibetan holy papers made for wrapping things. The bed has been slept in, so Rowena has been sleeping here. We spend another fifteen minutes searching and it yields nothing. So when there is a knock on the door Crowley is sitting reading the bible. 

“It’s open.” The door is pushed and it creaks as it swings, revealing two men. They are rather well built and are pushing a Rowena whose hair is up under a hat and sports large sunglasses that obscure her face. One of the men is holding her shoulder, so she stays upright, but her head tilts to the side. Fortunately it just appears like she is asleep.

“Good job boys. You can leave her just inside, I’ll take care of her from here.” The two men glare, and one of their hands clenches, but Crowley raises a brow and sets the bible down. “Gents, is there a problem? You are merely leaving a mother with her son. The son happens to be the King of Hell and the mother a 700 plus year old witch, but still.” The men look at each other and then push the wheelchair into the room and leave. Crowley waves a hand and the door closes, doorknob and lock fixed. Crowley wastes no time; with a wave shackles appear around Rowena’s wrists, ankles, and a gag in her mouth. I wonder if it is Crowley's favorite one.

_“Crowley has a favorite gag?”_

“Yes Robert, my favorite has razor blades and glass on the inside.” So if they try to talk-

 _“I get it, thanks.”_ With another wave the hat and glasses vanish, and that is when we notice the slight sapphire-red veins coming from around her eyes.

_“What the Hell is that?”_

Crowley stands and goes to his mother, standing over her a moment before opening her eyes. They are bloodshot. Crowley frowns. He doesn’t know. There is however, a very simple way to find out. 

With a snap Rowena’s soul leaves her body and returns to the King of Hell. Her son. Crowley. Both Robert and I are pushed down into other prisons so he can talk to his mother, without anyone learning anything he isn’t prepared to share. Bobby’s agreement with Dragoness prevented it, but with his mother, he wasn’t taking risks. Both of us are shunted to different prisons, I to the empty one that used to contain all of the personal ones he collected, and Bobby to, well, it must be the one where he eats. I hope he survives. We sit, I sit, in silence. Waiting for Crowley to finish examining his mother. 

That’s when Rowena's body moves. 


	38. The Warlock's Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the punishment is justly given. 
> 
> Reminder, this is a Horror story.  
> Warning, implied wrongful sexual interaction that includes manipulation and coercion. I do not condone these acts, nor do I think any of the real life people close to these characters condone these acts. This story does not represent any opinions of people who may be present in the story.  
> Warning, dead children. Because evil bitch witch.

“Hello Fergus.” Crowley blinks and looks at his mother’s body as the gag evaporates in a shower of red violet. It’s pupils are suddenly a red purple and the cruel veins extending from them to her skin flash, pulsing with energy.

“I allow my mother to call me that. You, are not her.” Whoever is inside Rowena smiles cruelly, a sneer that speaks even more to the fact that whoever is in there, is not supposed to be. “So, who are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Her accent is nonexistent. The new voice; hissing, guttural and unrecognized. 

“I really would.” Crowley snaps and the body stiffens in pain but the smile remains. 

“Go ahead. Dessstroy your mother’sss body.”

“I really will. As soon as I get answers. I never thought anyone would be stupid enough to mess with my mother. Not only was she one of the most powerful witches in existence...she’s... my… mother. I get to torture her. Not you.”

“I heard you didn’t do that anymore. Got passt your family drama.”

“Yes. Well what’s a little torture between family.” Gross. “Now. I suppose this was done for a reason. Besides the kuman thong?” What the Hell is that? 

The smile grows wider, and blood trickles out of the mouth, staining lips red. The body leans forward and I see a slight flash, an earring. Nothing special, sapphires in gold...that match the purple red of Rowena's eyes. I wonder if he can hear me in here. This prison was supposed to be for souls a regular demon collected, not talking, not loud. He tried to keep me out of the one for eating. I don’t really know what rules applied anymore since it seemed he could put nearly any soul in any stomach. 

“Not my thing. Bonussss really. I only needed seven after all.” 

I am suddenly torn from that place and pushed into the one for regular food. It’s sometimes hard to tell them apart in the red swirling mist unless it was the one that connected him to the line or the one that ate you. That one tended to hurt now, with all the force of him behind it. The 25 million souls plus Crowley buffeting you. When it was just me, hundreds of years ago, I guess he put me in there, not really knowing. He hadn’t really used the prison before, or done anything with it. Now, he had full knowledge and control of all these prisons. I still don’t understand it. But I’m human. I don’t think I am supposed to. 

Either way I am pulled out of that prison into another and feel myself passing Rowena, unconscious, glowing with angry red and purple that I can feel, not see. I land and find myself beside Bobby. So that’s why I wasn’t in the one for contracts. He wanted us to discuss. I wonder if Bobby saw the earrings. 

_ “I did. Those earrings ain’t normal.”  _ What’s a kuman thong?  _ “Kid...you don’t wanna know _ .” Not a kid. Currently spending eternity with a demon. I’m sure I’ll be fine. Bobby sighs but explains.  _ “Aborted fetuses, dried out, lacquered, painted in gold leaf, and wrapped in red holy papers. Sold as guardian spirits or good luck charms in Tibet _ . _ Yeah. It’s a real thing.”  _ Ugh. Get a fucking four leaf clover, fucking Hell.  _ “This goes a bit beyond that Bec. If the ritual is done by a real witch, they work.”  _ Oh. Gross.

Crowley looks at the person wearing his mother’s body and begins to pace. 

“So what is it you do want?”

“You’ll find out ssssoon enough.” The light fades from the body’s eyes and it slumps over, the glowing earrings losing their luster. 

“Bollocks!” Crowley curses and takes a breath. We watch as the veins lighten around the eyes and the aura of power lessens. He grabs the earrings, as in they appear in his hand, and throws his mother unceremoniously back into her body. He is about to pocket the earrings when they spark back to life, along with the veins. He backs up, and while Rowena doesn’t awaken, the aura of power grows. 

“Bollocks.” 

…………………….

We are in purgatory with Rowena, who is still asleep, or unconscious. Crowley is pacing back and forth in front of her floating body, which Dragoness is examining.

“I find it amusing that you bring her to me and not your demons, King of Hell.”

“They failed me, and I currently don’t trust them.”

“They betrayed you?”

“Actually, no. They were however, complete morons!” 

Jarrod is dead and gone, killed for his stupidity. He had honestly thought he was working with Rowena, making some extra money with the kuman thong and pissing off the cooks who had banned him from the kitchen… for other reasons I don’t want to think about.

_ “Seriously, who does that to soup?”  _ Both Bobby and I shudder. 

“So what do you want from me King of Hell?” Crowley stops pacing and looks up at the 20 ft form in front of him that is holding his mother in the air with a thought. He takes the earrings out of his pocket and examines them. The sapphires still glow slightly with red and violet energy. The teardrop shaped gems are surrounded by gold in intricate swirls and etchings that dangle from a single golden square stud. They are beautiful, and seemingly indestructible. He had tried fire, disenchantments, salting, and more. He holds them out in his palm towards the living embodiment of fire.

“Can you destroy these?”

“Of course. But it would do no good. That is merely a psychic link, what allows the spell holder to enter and use the body of the bewitched. The spell on your mother is already cast. Besides, should you not use them to scry on your quarry?”

“They are under warding.”

“As any smart witch should be.” Dragoness blinks and the earrings are gone, and in her hand, between two claws. They are tossed into her mouth. Well, I suppose that was why they hoarded gold. Crowley is still furious. He has no idea who this person is, or what they are doing, or how they got to Rowena. No way she would just put on something without checking for magic, right?

“What are they doing to her? Can you stop it?”

“Oh no. As with most magic, it must be destroyed at the source. And no, King of Hell, I cannot ‘write it away’. It has already happened, there are rules, remember?” 

“Bollocks.” He walks up and regards Rowena, his mother. His mother who was actually being a mother to him. Who he still didn’t know what to think of, who he was fairly incapable of returning the emotions he sought from her, except through Other people's souls. But still, that was other people’s feelings, not his own. He liked it that way, it had worked for a very very long time. Because he was fairly incapable of returning the sentiment, fairly. With 25 million souls, 100 of which were currently in states of white or pink sparks, he had started to feel, very slightly, things. Feelings. Dull, tainted, twisted, but there. And he did not know if he liked that. Sure, he was changing the souls he collected into part of himself...but what were they doing to him? When he had first done this our speech patterns had mixed a bit in the two months he spent with me. He had learned to control that quickly, thought that besides the occasional craving for a certain experience, there were few side effects he did not like.

Perhaps that was not true. Either way, he still didn’t know how to feel about it, because he Felt about it. Him. Not the souls he carried. Him. 

I did some math. Highly speculatory. He is 90% demon and 10% whatever dragoness did to him, because I think that's why he’s red. So if each soul he added became him, but like the theory of Hawking Radiation, every soul left a bit of itself behind… an anti-particle that instead of becoming the thing that absorbed it like a black hole does, escaped, or in our case, changed it...well. I couldn’t do that math, but I think he is less than 75% demon now. What that meant he was though...cuz it wasn’t human, I had no clue. 

And neither did he. 

_ “Me too. But I know I don’t like it.” _

“Bully for you both. Quiet. This isn’t good.” While I had been lost in my own thoughts Crowley had been examining Rowena. Apparently he had found something, something disturbing.

“She is losing power.” What? “Her ability, her arcane nature, is being taken.”

_ “Oh that ain’t good.” _

“No, it ‘ain’t’ Robert.” 

“Well, it would most definitely explain the sigils.” We all stare at Dragoness, well Crowley does and we agree. She rumbles in amusement and her eyes twinkle with a mischievous red. “Dragon eyes see the world a bit differently.” She grins and inhales through her teeth. She turns to Rowena… and immolates her in red fire. 

Crowley backs away quickly as the flames engulf Rowena, bright and red, covering her form completely. Red smoke issues forth, similar to Crowley’s, and as it lessens, the world around Rowena glitters through its thinned state, her body untouched.

Red violet sigils made of wisps of light hover around her, lines of energy flowing from them to her eyes, from the ether drawing power, and then out back again to some unknown source. The symbol in front of her is one I know, the symbol for magic, the seven pointed star. At each point a tiny light glows, and in its center is another symbol, one I don’t know, but I assume it’s not nice.

As the smoke spreads, sigils appear occasionally where puffs of the red float. Hundreds of lines flow from Dragoness into the ether, energy from the world flowing into her body, her will flowing out of it, affecting anything and everything she wants. The gate to Hell has hundreds of sigils around it, crackling with blood red energy. Crowley looks down and from his right side, where the prison that connected him to Hell’s souls resides, a bright white line flows into the ether and disappears. Sigils float around his head where his crown sits, invisible and untouchable to the world. Dragoness picks up a toothpick, well a stick to us, and blows red fire on it. It ignites, sparking as the pine needles ignite, giving off the same red smoke.

_ “Holy Shit. That’s just...there all the time?” _

“How did you think magic worked Hunter Robert? The energy from all spells is there, I can just see it.”

_ “She can hear me?” _

“I hear what I want. Now, King of Hell, today you may call me Ariadne, and I shall call you Theseus. Use this smoke to find the thread that will lead you through the labyrinth, at the end you shall find your witch of a minotaur. Do not let the flame die, my Theseus, my King of Hell, for I shall not give you another bit of my breath. Go. I shall be watching.” She holds out the stick in her claws and Crowley takes it. He rolls up his sleeves, out of reach of wayward sparks, and as he does two gold cufflinks appear with the same sapphires from before. With the smoke the red blue lines from them are visible, trailing off into the ether.

Crowley looks at Dragoness with a raised brow.

“You thought I ate them? Magic does not always impart a pleasing taste upon gold.”

“You knew, this whole time, what was going on.” Says Crowley, trying to control his temper. The Dragoness just grins.

“Do not let them touch your skin King of Hell.” Crowley frowns and nods.

“And what do I owe you for your assistance?”

“Nothing. You ate the pizza, drank the proverbial kool aid. You are my friend King of Hell, and that means, on occasion, you get Things with no strings attached. I believe, they are called ‘gifts’.” Both Robert and I snort, and are shot through with pain. “I will watch over your witch as you hunt. You have three days before your mother loses her magic, and another witch compounds their power with hers. Make haste Theseus.” Crowley nods, looks to the right at a pile of dead pine branches, and we are gone.

………………………

Every hour or so Crowley adds another branch to the rudimentary torch. I think he has hammerspace, which is fucking awesome. Either way the smoke shows the line of red violet light floating in the ether so he keeps the torch going. Now that we are one on Earth the lines of light don’t disappear but lead off in one direction consistently. Even though it wiggles, twists, and turns in the air as if magnets or invisible currents move it, it still points in one direction. One we follow.

It leads us across a glade, through a forest, across an ocean. He teleports in jumps, 50 or more miles at a time, except for the ocean, trying to pinpoint the location. We travel for two days, through cities, alive and bustling, shimmering towers and cars that are smooth and shiny. Through ruins of the most recent war, and the towns that are rebuilding nearby. Wind buffets everything everywhere, but the flame seems to only be concerned with its fuel. Finally we end our journey at a town in France, one I have not seen in a very long time. We get some stares for a brief moment at the border of it, the historical town that had been declared a ‘new tech’ free zone. Still a torch is a bit odd. He walks behind the trees, into the forest, and he bamfs away. We stand atop a building, staring at the house on the small hill, one with white pillars, and a very large glass window on the second floor. 

Anton’s house. 

_ “Who the Hell is Anton?”  _ He was a warlock, then a contract signer, then an ally, then a betrayer, then entertainment, then-

“A dinner date.” More dinner than date….

Crowley glares at the building and with a thought stands in the room we stood in what seems eons ago. The desk is still the same, the white pillars the same, the marble, the bay window, all the same.

The person sitting at the desk, is not.

“‘Ello Crowley. ‘Ow are you thisss fine eve?” The woman looks young, the same complexion, same hair, same facial structure as Anton. Her accent being let through now that there is no hiding behind Rowena. Her hair is short, neck length, a very japanese cut that frames her face and shows off earrings that match Crowley’s cufflinks. Her dress is also of Japanese style, the embroidery of flowers outlined in gold stands out beautifully on the black silk. Crowley drops the burning branch into one of the empty marble planters to the right, filling it with more of the brush he had taken. The witch watches him, curious, but silent, patient.

“Julia. I suppose this is about Anton.”

“Yesss.” As she smiles I see fangs, the reason for the hiss. Crowley raises a brow.

“The fangs are new.”

“I made a deal wiz a dying naga, thisss wasss ze resssult.”

“Well, either way, I thought you hated Anton, with a passion, considering you tried to kill him multiple times.”

“Yesss, but ‘e wasss mine to kill. Not Yoursss. He wassss my brozer.” 

“He broke a deal with me.”

“‘E failed, asss ‘e wasss wont to do. I want him back, bring ‘is soul back from ‘ell, and I will stop ze spell.” Uh-oh.

_ “Yeah, uh-oh, don’t cut it. Let’s just hope for the best and that this bitch kills Crowley.” _ Yeah, no, not gonna happen. Not likely. But a witch with her and Rowena’s power… even if Crowley loses?  _ “That does sound kinda bad, but I think I’d prefer her to Crowley.” _

“You have not met Julia.” Crowley says quietly and Julia hisses and glares. “Pardon, I have some friends talking in my ear. Also, my greatest apologies, but I can’t. He isn’t there.”

“Zhen Get ‘Im!”

“I can't, he isn’t anywhere.” Crowley, not the time for dramatics. I can feel his disagreement, he is enjoying this scene too much. The smoke from the branches is filling the room, Crowley has added more fuel to the fire. Sigils, leylines, runes; magic is visible everywhere. They flicker angrily, but not as angrily as Julia’s eyes.

“Zat isss not posssible. Witchesss do not go to zey Empty.”

“Of course it is. Well, if he was anywhere I suppose it would be with me.” Crowley looks at the desk, hands in pockets. “I’m surprised you got all his blood off the desk.”

“”E wasssn’t ‘ere when I wasss called ‘ome. Zere wasss no body. I had to do a divining ssspell to find out ‘e wasss dead.”

“Of course there wasn’t a body, I cleaned my plate like a good little demon.”

“Zen you ‘ave ‘iss sssoul. Give it to me!” Julia’s face is painted with anger, her neck stretched and the tendons showing in her rage and impatience. 

“I can’t darling, I said I cleaned my plate and I meant it.” Oh boy.

Julia screams and throws her hands up, red light streaming from them in an instant. It arcs towards Crowley, who vanishes. This is a powerful witch, as powerful as Rowena. If she got Rowena’s power too...Crowley stands behind her, angel blade thrusting down. Julia spins and dodges, a chain of energy holding the blade at bay. With the aid of the smoke, all the magic is tangible, visible, no longer just words and force moving things around. Although I have a feeling with her level of power, a lot of Julia’s more intense spells would be visible without the smoke. 

The chains twist around the blade and fling it out of Crowley’s hands. Crowley backs up a bit in surprise, she shouldn’t be that physically powerful. Julia smiles and her eyes flash to slits of pupils, snake eyes and she hisses. The naga. 

With a thought another blade is in Crowley’s hands and he is gone, across the room. 

“Laqueum!” Red energy in the form of ropes appears and lashes out, but Crowley vanishes again, and appears to the right. Julia screams and with an angry wave the ropes turn into violently cracking whips. They quickly strike at Crowley as she uses the energy from the spell to create a new one. The whips lacerate his suit and bite the skin. It burns and weeping lash marks appear on his chest, flooding his shirt with blood. The wounds quickly start healing and Crowley frowns and throws the blade at Julia. 

“Revertere ad mittensss!” Energy crackles from her through the smoke and hits the dagger which freezes in the air, and then flies back towards us, pointy end first. Crowley lets it hit him, grinning as the demon killing dagger lights up his chest, and nothing happens. Julia curses and throws her hands to the side, energy building, pressure in the room rising.

“Rowena was a friend of yours Julia.”

“We’ve both betrayed each ozer hundredssss of timesss, ssshe’d underssstand.”

“Taking her power? I doubt that darling. I believe even my mother thought that a bit far. After all, she just killed her enemies.”

“Well, we were boz kicked out of ze coven. We lossst contact in ze 18th century. I wasss busy fucking around wiz zey foolish alchemissstsss in Britian.” Julia circles, and Crowley returns the favor, pulling out the dagger, ready for her next move. She continues to talk, perhaps to try to distract him, a tactic he used frequently. “Ze onesss who zought zey were talking to angelsss. Poor dearsss. Zey lasssted yearsss asss my petsss, zey onesss who finally got the sssorcerer’sss ssstone to work. Ssso I wasss ssstill occupied when I ‘eard zey coven wass being desstroyed. Shee ssseemed to ‘ave it well in ‘and. Ssso-” Crowley waves a hand to throw her against a wall, blood red energy flowing at her, but a wall of red, and now purple, flares up to Julia’s left, blocking it.

_ “Oh shit.” _ Yeah, that was a bit of powerful magic. Crowley frowns, that type of attack was a main tactic of his, especially when he didn’t want to get in close, and he certainly wanted time to dodge here. Although, it gave her the same ability. He snaps, blood red energy going out in waves, visible in the smoke, as if the very sound carried the magic. Perhaps it did. However, the same wall appears, protecting her as they both circle each other with predatory intent. He had wanted to enjoy this fight for a bit, but it was becoming concerning. They are at a stalemate unless he gets in close. 

So he does.

He appears behind her, grabbing her in a hug, knife against her throat.

“Glaccci-”

“None of that.” A hand clamps over her mouth and he twists, snapping her neck. Her body goes limp, then rigid, as it falls into a pile of scales that tinkle as they hit the floor. Crowley looks at them for a moment, shining green in their splendor and then turns away in annoyance and frustration. 

“Shit.” I’m guessing that wasn’t her real body. “Simulacrum.” With a thought blood red energy arcs in an instant toward the burning branch which appears in Crowley’s hand. He looks at the fire in the planter and with a thought it is filled with sage, burning slowly, cleansing the room of magic and energy, which is everywhere. Remnants crackle through the red smoke like static. The sigils and runes on the walls glow with angry light, Crowley himself is lit up with blood red energy, his anger putting out pressure and affecting the ley lines around him. I guess this might be how angels sense demons and vice versa, the low output of energy from the act of possession. Behind my soul, it hid him, but right now, against a witch, he didn’t want to be human, to be behind a human soul. That was Not an asset in this fight. He straightens his suit jacket and follows the line of violet red from his cuffs out of the room. 

He has 14 hours left before the ritual is complete. Before the last bit of power that had been drained from Rowena, is transferred to Julia. Before she might be a danger to, if not him, his plans.

_ “The whole fuckin world judgin by what she did back there.” _

“Probably Robert. So, let’s go save the world, again.” 

_ “Yeah, so you can keep eatin souls.” _ Bobby, haven’t you figured it out yet? He does it for the scotch and ‘the lulz’. I get a slight silent chuckle alongside the jolt of pain this time.

Crowley follows the glowing lines of light to the left and through a wall paved in tile with wooden walls, plants, and pretty things. The door at the end of the hall next to the window has runes glowing and dancing across it. The light leads us there and it is, of course, locked. 

“Locks are just flimsy suggestions.” Says Crowley as the door is blown away with a thought. The warding turns white and vanishes as soon as he walks through, an alert spell has been activated. We step down the stairs, and as we follow them wood is soon replaced with stone one flight down. We are subterranean. Natural light flows through a few small windows but most of the room is lit not by torch or natural light but by glowing arcs of energy coming from small dead bodies at each point of the seven pointed star. The energy arcs through them as they lie spent, burning on the ground, turning to ash slowly from the energy they helped gather. It is a grotesque perversion of the memories made at Pompeii and they stare in horror at the ceiling, eyeless. I am grateful Crowley is paying them no mind, for I would surely be breaking down in tears and rage if we looked at them longer. Bobby shares my sentiment.

The energy arcs, violet, towards the center of the star. The center of a magic tesla coil where Julia is hit by bolts of energy raining down from above at the meeting of all the bands of arcing light. Her naked body flashes from inside with each hit, veins showing where the shadow of her skeleton doesn’t hide the light. She speaks, eyes slowly opening showing permanently altered eyes with slit irises and green pupils.

“Crowley.”

“Julia, in the flesh this time I hope?” 

She wastes no time and with a wave one of the pillars of lightning turns from her and reaches out to Crowley. He dodges with a step and continues walking forward at a slow deliberate pace. The energy is familiar, it feels like Rowena. 

“Pedes gelida!” The spell arcs, red and violet, toward Crowley, but misses, hitting the floor in front of him. The burning torch is thrown aside, specifically into a tapestry, and forgotten, less needed now. The magic here is powerful enough to be visible, tangible, dangerous. The air sparkles and shimmers and latent sparks manifest and vanish as if the air was a dry quilt and someone was rubbing it, static electricity sparking to life seemingly at random. Of course static electricity isn’t at random, and neither is this. With each pull from Julia and Crowley the fabric of reality is manipulated through the leylines and will alone; sparking with protest and the amount of energy being pulled through it. Crowley steps and his feet stick, he looks down and hex bags litter the floor. With a thought he teleports, negating the spell by sheer range to the activated hex bag. With a wave a line of purple energy arcs towards him after detaching itself from the center. It hits the floor this time, Julia’s anger and desperation making her wild and reckless, she is unable to stop it. The floor cracks where Crowley’s foot was moments before. 

Crowley is at the edge of the star, the energy flashing between the arcs of Rowena’s stolen power. He reaches forward and his hand lights with purple fire that eats at the skin and turns it to ash. He can’t get in.

“Mens contritum!” The spell breaks through the now smokey room, hands with claws heading towards Crowley’s head, we vanish again and Julia screeches in rage at her elusive enemy. There was a pattern here. Spell, energy arc, spell, energy arc. Fuck, this was a boss fight in a video game. She couldn’t use more than one arc at a time, or something, couldn’t do a spell and concentrate on controlling the arc of energy. One at a time.

“That doesn’t help me Chew Toy.” You need to figure out the correct move… or maybe it’s not a fight but a puzzle... Let the arc hit you, grab it and let it pull you inside. All of them together create a barrier, one you might be able to handle. Use it as a kind of grounding agent to let the energy pass through you instead of into you. 

He pauses, it could work, or incinerate his body. He stands still and sure enough another arc of energy slams towards him. Julia screams in triumph as it hits, not realizing he has in fact, grabbed it. Energy flows around and through him. Burning us, his skin, his suit. We are aflame in a million ways, all of them most definitely suck. The clothing ignites more as he walks forward, Crowley trying to heal his body as fast as the magic eats away at it. Everything is fire. 

As he steps through the outer edge of the pillars of energy the one he is holding snaps back into place. With a thought he douses the flames and continues to walk toward his foe. She screams and tries to back out of the symbol in the very center, but is stuck in place by the ritual. Her green eyes look around wildly for a moment before fixing on Crowley in a panic.

“Ligurrio!” The spell rushes red and purple towards Crowley, mouths and human hearts and hands forming from the rushing energy as he lets it hit him. The magic surges through him, not unpleasantly, and his eyes flash many shades of red; from happy pink to lustful ruby to the hungry shade of raw meat. Crowley shakes his head and tuts his disappointment. 

“Bad choice darling, very hard to control the outcome of that spell. See love isn’t really a thing for demons; but hunger, lust? Vibrant and entwined. So congrats, your spell was successful. In so...many...ways. ” 

Crowley stands above her, lit by a red violet glow, flickering energy above them playing across quickly healing skin. The ground cracks as Crowley reaches out and grabs Julia by the throat, lifting her up with one hand he covers her mouth with his, preventing her from casting more spells. He is completely complying with the enchantment, willingly and voraciously. The kiss is passionate, hungry, and violent with its need. His mouth searches for the perfect angle and when he finds it...the kiss ends abruptly. Very abruptly. He pulls back and part of her comes with. 

_ “Oh god.”  _ Crowley ignores, no relishes in the disgust his prisoners feel as he swallows a bit of lip and tongue. He holds her by the neck, uncaring of her grasping clawing hands at his throat and the blood pooling from his mouth at her own attempts to cause him pain, to escape. His eyes are full of the type of contempt that can only be given to something, not someone. 

“I had to ruin my suit to get in here.”

_ “Oh Fuck off.”  _ Do you really want to use that terminology right now Bobby?

“I hate when people ruin my suits.” The energy above fizzles and flickers and then retreats into the ether as the sigils holding it together crumble more and more. The purple energy flashes out of Julia’s eyes as the spell withers slowly away. “So, I’m going to show you exactly what I did to your brother. I am going to show you very slowly. While Anton got some jollies before he realized I wasn’t playing our usual game, you are already quite aware what game this is, and it isn’t Monopoly.” Crowley wipes the blood from his lips and tightens his grip. “So, your bed... or mine?”   
  


…………………………………...

Crowely returns to Purgatory a week later, having finally finished with Julia, and gotten a new suit. He had done... He had made good on his words. He had shown her what he did to Anton. He had shown her slowly. Julia had gotten some pleasure out of it too. It’s best to start with something nice, but one was Crowley’s favorites, and almost nothing Crowley likes is ‘nice.’ It is the type of euphoria that happens when the reprieve from pain so sought after and longed for that it feels like ecstasy no matter what it is. After a point… Anything to stop the pain, even for a bit. And the reprieve makes the return to white hot agony so much worse. So these favorites of his happen right before a slow agonizing death becomes a joy, because you can see the end of the tunnel. 

Crowley rarely liked anything simple. And hundreds upon hundreds of years worth of experience with torture meant nothing was simple. 

Bobby is quiet, having never experienced that amount of horror before. He had seen cruelty, duplicity, even evil from Crowley. He had not seen Crowley really Be a demon. I had, I can’t say I’m fine, but I’m far more used to it. The fact that I’m used to it scares me far more than the torture now. 

Crowley walks, hands in his pockets and a spring in his step. He had had a lovely week. The first part he spent on earth before bringing Julia to Hell. Her body, what was left of it, and soul had been dragged down by Growley. He had taken her to the room, the dual bedroom torture chamber, recently enlarged to fit his demon form. He had shed his suits and set them aside as he slowly tore away what was left of the body until just her soul remained. He hadn’t done this with no tools but his double edged claws. That flesh quickly went past the razor sharp teeth in his second mouth, speared and devoured as if each piece was nothing more than a blackberry oozing juice.

They had spent the rest of the week there. Sorry. He, Julia, and I had spent the rest of the week there. Robert was in a jar after the first five minutes when it was apparent he would ‘ruin the fun’ with his threats, nausea, or attempts at revolt. So he was sent away. 

Crowley had everything he needed for a ‘good time’ in that room. Food, drink, torture tools, me to shudder quietly while exuding tangled emotions, and a lovely woman he could torture and rain revenge upon in numerous ways until finally she would just be... gone. He started slow, with nice things, things that made them both happy, things to confuse her, before she finally remembered he was still under the spell. She had dispelled it only to find to her surprise that nothing changed. He was showing her what he did with Anton after all, and that included everything that led up to the sudden surprise of being tortured mid coitus by your supposed ‘business partner.’ Five days of pain, five minutes of taunts and horrid offers, one hour of begging and bargaining, four hours of reprieve, six hours of pain… and then... Inside the red prison next to me just long enough to rip the magic she had managed to steal clean out of her soul. Then she was nothing. A memory. 

So yes, he is quite happy as he steps through the door to purgatory.

“Fergus!” He is immediately met with a hug that slightly dampens his mood. Rowena holds him, her eyes glittering with a myriad of emotions. Crowley steps back and nods.

“Rowena. I have a present for you.” He takes a vial from his pocket and holds it up, shaking it once. Blue violet light fills it, flashing and twisting in circles. “I believe this is yours.” Rowena grabs it.

“My...How did you even get this back?” Crowely just smiles and walks towards Dragoness who is also smiling with far too many teeth.

“I watched everything, I enjoyed the thing you did with the spoon.” Both Bobby and I shudder. The spoon still gets me every time, it is horrible.

“It’s always nice to have an audience.” Dragoness chuckles while Bobby cringes.

“Fergus...I...I remember gettin a present from Julia...and then nothing. Dragoness said she was tryin to steal my magic, is that true?”

“Yes mother.” Rowena’s face turns red.

“'At wee fanny. she was aye jealoos ay mah magic! Did she gie whit was comin' tae 'er? Whit did ye dae tae 'er?”

“What would you have done mother?”

“Ah woods hae roasted 'er alife an' fed 'er tae th' dogs.” Crowley pauses.

“I believe those are one of the few things I did not do.” Rowena huffs and takes a breath.

“Good. Wee cunt. She still around?”

“What do you think, mother?” Rowena sighs and takes a breath, calming herself. 

“I would have liked a turn Fergus.”

“With what was left? I doubt it.” He pauses and looks her over, his gaze cold. “From now on, any gifts you recieve, anything you buy, or steal, or obtain, will be gone over by a team of demons first. If this happens again, in any way...well it won’t happen a third time. Do you understand mother?” Rowena rolls her eyes but nods.

“Fine by me Fergus, I dinnae think I have any friends left that aren’t dead anyway.” Crowley nods and looks at Dragoness.

“See you in a week for our hunt.” Dragoness grins.

“I look forward to it. Bring your mother back sometime, I had an interesting time teaching and talking old magic. She has wonderful stories.” Crowley looks at his mother, preening in the praise, and I feel a spark of an idea.

“I’m sure she does.”


	39. The Learning Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a girl's innocence is saved, and then shattered.
> 
> Warning, implied attempted rape.
> 
> Reminder, again, this is a HORROR story. Just like the show, it will grow in intensity. It will get more and more horrifying.

“No, no no no. Sara. You’re holding it like a scalpel, hold it like a paintbrush for big strokes, scalpel for detail work.” Crowley, that’s just two different ways to hold a paintbrush. “Quiet Chew Toy.” 

Sara pauses with the scalpel inches away from skin. The room is dry and sparsely lit as always. They were alone, well ‘alone’ as much as you can be with Crowley given the ‘snacks’ and souls he carries. The dungeon had changed little in the hundreds of years. A few new torture implements lined the walls, a new symbol painted on the back, but that was all. Outside the doors, the filing system had been updated and scanned and digitized into drives and glowing tubes. Shelves upon shelves of data not just on lore but on locations of individual monsters and nests. Hunter’s journals, all catalogued. 

Sara stares at the demon before her. Legs crossed, waiting patiently with hands templed in his lap. He could leave at any moment despite the chains on his wrists and ankles. The ones for show, the ones for ‘fun’. He was here because… of many reasons. Boredom. Pleasure. Teaching. It was amusing, her discomfort. It was also dangerous. She needed to be able to do this, he wanted a fun vacation. Two birds, one stone. 

She had done as he had asked and he said he’d sit in that chair, so he was sitting in the chair. He had been sitting, quiet comfortably and with hidden enthusiasm, for hours. He was getting a tad bored, the pain was minimal and Sara was barely trying. Perhaps she was afraid of what he’d do to her if she actually caused him pain. Perhaps she was reluctant to do this to anybody at all. Perhaps she was worried about the pain she might be causing any of the souls he carried. She stares and finally asks the question on her mind.

“Can she feel it too?”

“Of course not.”

“So none of them can-”

“Oh, no. The rest can. She can’t. It might violate our contract.” It would. Only you get to torture me. Of course, the intent is on you, I’m just a byproduct... Willing to risk it? “No. Are you Chew Toy?” Nah. I’ve been to heaven. Until they get communal rooms, I’m down here. Memories are great, but I need to make new things or I’ll go insane. Not like I can stay up there anyway.

“That was bullshit for the show. You think Heaven would do anything that would hold back their ability to take souls, steal from Hell? ...What?” Crowley looks up at Sara from the chair. He shifts and crosses his legs. The wet fabric, slick with blood, is cloying and sounds odd against the metal of the chair. “It’s fine, even if she could feel it, she’s used to it.” I really am. “You’re far too green to get a reaction from her.” She really is. “Now.” Crowley folds his hands. “Our date was going so well. I almost felt something.” Sara sighs.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be learning here. I know all the different sensitive spots, different types or torture, I-”

“You’re going to learn to be ruthless and turn off that conscience while you do this, or I’m going to break you. You wanted to learn, I agreed to teach. So… Try, again.” Crowley’s suit jacket and his long peacoat sit over on the table along with his tie. His dress shirt is bloody, even with the sleeves rolled up and it opened in the front to reveal the undershirt. Still, these are the least expensive items of his ensemble. Crowley looks at Sara and raises a brow.

“The first step is to get angry. The second is to use the anger to bury every other feeling.” Sara blinks.

“And you know this how?” Crowley sighs and looks at Sara. She is barely stained, no blood anywhere except a light spot on her cheek. She had been calmly and carefully ministrating to him. She was being too careful, surgical, for it to hurt him or even give him pleasure. She is tentative, cautious, and Nice. Which does not belong here. She needs to be ruthless. 

“Well, you don’t seem like a sadist. I doubt pride has anything to offer here. Same for lust…” He pauses. “Unless I’m wrong?”

“Ew. No.”

“Pity. So, anger it is. Think…. Of what I did to Jakobs. You remember that photo?” Sara cringes. “Of course you do. Think of how many others I will do that to over the centuries, cut into them. Feed their entrails to my dogs.”

“Are you trying to make me hate you?”

“Oh no. A lot of them deserve it, they keep trying to kill me. Or my friends.”

“You don’t have friends Crowe.”

“Contracted family then.” Sara pauses as she tries to understand what that means. When she does her eyes widen. 

“Wait...people have tried to hurt us?”

“Oh, a few demons got curious and then insolent about me working with you.” Sara blinks.

“So what did you do?”

“Darling. I ate them.” Sara blinks.

“There you go again, with this eating thing. What does that mean?”

“I don’t understand your confusion darling.” Sara sighs. 

“If you eat a demon, you just kill it, same with a human. The body, the meat, is gone. That’s all. It’s not a fairly ruthless punishment to kill someone and eat them.”

“Who said anything about killing them first?” Sara stares. 

“Oh.”

“Oh.” Crowley mocks. “That’s not even the half of it, but it gives you an inkling of the depravity which I enjoy on the daily. Now. Hold it like a paintbrush.” Sara sighs. 

“I think I need a break.”

“You tease. It was just starting to do something for me.”

“Gross.” 

“Besides, You get a break when I say you get a break.”

“Ok, let me rephrase. We’ve been doing this for three hours and there is a vampire nest I’m hunting whose movements I finally figured out last night. I know they will be coming back from a hunt in two hours. I have to go. It’s a job.” Crowley sighs. This was something he couldn’t interfere with. Stopping their hunts if they didn’t interfere with his allies outside the bunker. Samantha, hundreds of years ago now, had redone their contract when she agreed to go multi-generational. That was one of the rules. No interfering with their other jobs unless they asked. 

So he nods, snaps his clothing back into a presentable state and a book into his hand. 

“I cleared my schedule for our date, I have a full 14 more hours for-“

“You cleared 18 hours for this!?” Crowley looks up with a raised brow. 

“You thought I wouldn’t last a long time? Torture is a bit like sex for some demons so-”

“Enough! I’m out.” Sara puts the scalpel down, turns and walks out hands in the air. 

Crowley settles into the chair with the book, a rare moment of repose. No scotch. No list. No cravings. Just The Murder on the Orient Express. We are on chapter three. 

……………………

We are in chapter four when suddenly he feels the tug of being summoned. Crowley sighs and readies himself for an annoyance of hunters. That is the scientific term. A group of ravens is a murder, a group of demons is a legion, a group of angels is a host, a group of hunters is an annoyance. 

Whether it is a hunter or a witch this is one thing that no demon can ignore. The pull increases and we vanish into the ether. 

We arrive in a basement. A nice basement. Stone walls, banners, candles. With no hunters...But a bunch of people in robes. Black robes with red trim. They hold their arms in front of them like Benedictine monks and we can see none of their faces. Crowley looks around confused. 

On the ceiling is a summoning circle, a large one in blood with symbols that Crowley has not seen before. A trap is on the floor. Both are concerning, the dead woman and dead goat also concern me. Not Crowley, but these itched something in the back of my soul. A memory of a stereotype. 

“Well lads, to what do I owe the interruption of my afternoon?”

Immediately all but one of the robed figures fall to the floor, prostrating themselves. The one remaining opens his arms and that’s when we see it. The upside down cross in the upside down pentacle. 

“Hail Lord Satan!” Oh Hell no. 

Hail the King of Hell!” The room echoes with the voices of the rest of the cult responding to the leader. Crowley raises a brow and closes the book, carefully using the sleeve to mark the page. 

“Well, you’re right on one account. I am the King of Hell, but Lucifer is dead.” There is silence. 

“Lucifer is the King of Hell. All hail Lucifer!”

“All hail the king of-“

“That’s going to get old fast.” Crowley snaps all the cultists except the leader grab their mouths, unable to open them. “Hope none of you have a cold. Now. To what do I owe this interruption? I was on break!” The leader takes a step back and Crowley sighs. He looks around. To the left is a staircase leading up to a rather large barred wooden door. Banners hang from the ceiling with various symbols, most incorrect, for various demons. To the right is a raised dais with a throne made of gold and velvet. Crowley takes a step forward, out of the circle and into the chair. He sits and opens his book. It doesn’t really matter where he reads, and the torch light was still enough and added a nice bit of ambience. We were at that paragraph, there.

“I know Chew Toy. You’re just lucky we read at the same speed.” You mean faster. I read faster than you. He doesn’t comment but sits quietly, soon turning the page with a lick of his fingers. There is quiet, for at least a few moments before the sound of rustling fabric and shoes on stone echoes. Crowley sighs and looks up. The leader is standing in front of the throne with the congregation behind him. 

“Well, have you come to articulate what you want?”

“To bask in your greatness Lu-“

“The name’s Crowley. Next person to call me Satan or Lucifer gets fed their own robes.” There is a small gasp from the back. I have a feeling I know why. 

“Crowley.” The leader’s voice fills the room, quavering slightly

“King of Hell works too.” Crowley snaps and gasping permeates the room. For people to make a mistake they have to be able to talk after all. 

“K-King of Hell. We have summoned you today to bask in your greatness and-“

“No you haven’t. You want something. So, what?” The leader stiffens and drops their hood. The man is nearing middle age, his beard is peppered with gray and his hair has a streak of silver. His face is angled but square and a very large scar frames it on the right side. A bionic eye, a cheap one, looks out from the right socket. The skin around it is tinged with green, the surgery was done poorly. 

“Lord Crowley. Heaven has forsaken us. No matter our previous beliefs or creeds, we have been shunned by society. We-“

“Yes. You’re so sad, as sad as the hundred souls I got to harvest from the robotics factory explosion last week because the owner trapped their souls to save his own. Or as sad as the acid spill that gave me twenty souls who wanted their skin back in the right place. What. Do. You. Want?” The leader swallows but gets the hint and moves on. 

“For our fair share in society! A place! We will make sacrifices in your name oh lord sat-“ Crowley snaps and the man’s robes vanish. His stomach distends and he lurches forward, gasps, clutching his throat. He tries to cough but doubles over in a fit of horrible retching. 

“Would someone else care to take over?” The congregation is silent, the sounds of distress commanding their attention. Crowley sighs and with a snap all heads turn towards him. “Hello, you called, I came. Can we get down to business? Who was the second in command?” The congregation look between each other, not wanting to step forward, or perhaps really not having a second in command. “Now, or-“

A robed figure to the right stands and walks forward, stepping around the leader. 

“You’ve been promoted. Speak quickly, why am I here?”

“Seretti summoned you, lord, oh great-“

“I said quickly.” The figure nods. 

“You were summoned in the hopes of helping him become great, powerful. We were to bask in his greatness, because we were unworthy to bask in yours.”

“And do you still feel that way?”

Reaching into his mouth Seretti grabs something and pulls. The screams of pain are muted as something black with a slight bit of red is drawn out in the most grotesque magic act. Crowley sits, disinterested, while the congregation watches as cloth is slowly reintroduced into the air. Rowley snaps his fingers and all the heads turn back toward him. The man in front swallows.

“We...are unworthy, great lord, ruler of Hell.” Crowley frowns. 

“No, you simpleton. Who still wants to follow their glorious leader?” There is silence. “Anyone who does not want to play ‘follow the leader’...leave. Now.” The congregation all stand and rush up the stairs towards the door. Two unlock the magnetic finger print lock and as the door starts to open Crowley snaps and it closes.

“And we won’t have a repeat of this, correct? Or do some of you like the taste of cheap fabric?” There are immediate shakes of heads and Crowley. “Good, learn from this.” Crowley snaps, allowing the door to open. They rush out and there is a slam as the door is closed behind them. Crowley sighs and looks at the one remaining figure, the one from the back corner who gasped. Crowley sits, and waits.

“Well, are you coming up here or not?” The figure doesn’t hesitate, they rush up and kneel next to their struggling leader. “I’m assuming that gasp earlier was from recognition?” The figure nods. 

The leader reaches out for help and Crowley’s eyes follow him for a moment, before returning to the remaining cloaked figure. He holds their gaze, daring them to help.They do not. 

“Yes King of Hell, Crowley. King of the Crossroads…as Mark Sheppard.”

“Good to know people still watch it. So. With a bit more knowledge, try to do better than him. What, do you want?”

Realizing he will get no assistance, the struggling man falls to the floor. Grabbing and pulling at the now wet robes. They are far wetter than they should be for the brief moment they were in his esophagus. They are blood soaked, the rough fabric effectively rug burning the inside of his throat until the skin is gone. It’s perhaps fortunate, because the robes come out faster with the painfully acquired lubricant. 

“Something similar, but not identical to Serreti’s plans. Not all of us agreed with them.”

“And his plans were…?” Asks Crowley with a raised brow.

“Sacrifices, weekly, for the King of Hell, so he could become a warlock.” Oh brother. There were far easier ways to do that. Far safer ways. I mean humanity didn’t have laser pistols or flying cars yet, yet, but tech had gotten pretty awesome. No laser guns, but long distance tasers, now they had gotten awesome. 

“I find it interesting that you said humanity instead of ‘we’.” Crowley, Call me Ariel. I wanna be part of their woooorld. I’m not. So fuck off. Crowley chuckles but looks at the kneeling hooded figure. 

“Take the hood off. It’s pretentious and cliche.” The hood comes down to reveal a young, maybe 30 year old woman, with red curling hair and freckles decorating a round face. He regards her for a moment before a thud echoes. 

The leader has hit the floor, barely a foot and a half of the fabric draping out of his mouth, the rest still is obstructing his airways. He twitches once, and lays still, no blood pooling out, the cloak absorbing it all. Crowley puts the book on the arm of the throne and stands. 

“And what do you want.”

“I wish to make a deal, to spread the word through the other cults, of the true Lord of Hell.”

“And in return?”

“I wish to become a witch.”

“There are easier, less dangerous ways. Besides, I don’t really get much out of this.”

“Those that do not accept the new lord...will be imprisoned and have their names sent to you, for your pleasure.” That was interesting, and convenient.

“And what happens when there are none left.”

“That will take hundreds of years.”

“And I’m immortal, and so would you be. So, what happens when there are none left?” The girl is silent, she had not thought this far ahead. “Either way, the answer is no. I don’t want to become the new thing idiots pray to. My name in a few select cults, fine. Every single one. No. So, here’s my proposition. You head a few new cults, spread the word, but not too much. As long as you send me...say 50 souls a year, per base of operation. One less, you and your entire cult, are mine.” The woman doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask to see the contract. The fool.

“Deal.”

The contract appears in Crowley’s hands, rolling along the floor to stop atop Serrati’s head. A pen appears at the bottom. 

“Kiss on it Barbara?”

“Uhm…” She is hesitant that he knows her name but… “I insist.”

………………………………………………

  
  


We step out of the ruined church having added more to the deal. About assistance with purifying demons, hiding artifacts, and more. Crowley is sending Ranni a list containing the names of all the members of the cult who fled when we get the call.

“Sara?” The voice that responds is hushed and desperate. 

“Crowe, I fucked up. There was one more tonight. He broke my machete and is between me and the car. No one else is close enough and he’s calling someone. I’m gonna die, and worse, so much worse, I’ll kill myself before he... vampire already-”

Crowley stands beside her, in plain view. 

“Already what?”

“Fucking cunt!”

“No darling, not here. Now the-“ Crowley looks to his left as the vampire punches him. He doesn’t move from the impact at all. “I was talking.” Crowley snaps and the vampire flies into a wall. Crowley turns back to Sara. “Now the situation. What did you do wrong?” Sara stares. “I will not be here to rescue the damsel in distress frequently, in fact never again. I’m here only because we have a date and it would be ruined if you died prematurely. So, if this is going to be a learning experience, what did you learn?” Sara swallows. 

“Don’t go in alone even if there are only two?” Crowley blinks. 

“Good start. Now. What did he do that caught you by surprise?” Sara is quiet. “What did he do?” He looks more closely over the girl before him; her face is tear streaked, something odd for a hunter. She is covered in cuts, nursing an arm that is blossoming a bruise, a sleeve is ripped… the top button of her jeans is undone. Crowley frowns. “Did he try to steal third base?” Sara sniffs and looks away, her face hard. Crowley narrows his eyes. 

He didn’t like this feeling, this protectiveness. Disgust sure; rape was simple and base and far too easy, something lesser beings did. But protectiveness… Of his property sure, but of her as a person? He isn’t feeling it through me, he is feeling it. He shouldn’t be. It has to be coming from another soul… right? If it is, it isn’t me. All he is getting from me is absolute rage. 

So he latches onto that. 

He raises his hand and the vampire's neck flies into it. He squeezes. The vampire thrashes and yells out. 

“The Hell?”

“Exactly.” The vampire stops thrashing as Crowley’s eyes flash red. 

“Dude, did not know she was yours. No harm no foul?”

“Oh there is definitely something foul, and it’s you.” Crowley snaps with his other hand and the sound of breaking bones fills the air. He looks back at Sara. “I won’t be getting back in the chair this evening. Do you mind if he joins our date?” Sara sniffs, her eyes on the floor. Crowley sighs and snaps. The vampire vanishes. “It’s been a long week, I was really looking forward to torture of some kind. With my demons a bit terrified to misbehave after last month’s punishment display, I haven’t had anyone to play with. So. What can I do to make sure it still happens, preferably with my assistant?” 

I can feel it, we both can. The lie. He is making excuses but he is a bit upset that Sara is upset. He wants that to stop. As fast as fucking possible. He snaps again and her clothes are cleaned up a bit, as in completely different clothes. He touches her hand, expecting the flinch but doing it anyway, and we are gone. 

We are sitting at a table somewhere in Italy, a theme these days. The cars drive by silently and the glowing lights thrum as music plays from the umbrella above. Sara gasps. 

“The fucking cunting Hell? Where-“

“Italy. Getting fresh gelato. Signore?” The waiter at the nearby table stops and comes over. 

“Si?”

Crowley holds up a finger and points to Sara. The waiter nods, whipping out the metal rod that holds the hologram for today’s menu. Sara takes it tentatively, and nods a thanks. 

“Inglese?” The waiter nods to Crowley and presses a button on the side of the rod. “Grazi. Un momento.” The waiter nods a final time and leaves.

Sara holds the metal cylinder and pressed the sides, the hologram pops out and she swallows, looking a moment before setting it down. 

“Why are we here? Why are you being nice?”

“Because we have things to do, and you are distressed. No matter the species or the situation, eating something usually helps take a mind off a problem. What I usually eat when I’m stressed wouldn’t be of interest to you. So. Order something, calm down a bit, and we can get to the fun part.”

“Fun part?”

“Where we go back to the bunker, and have craft time with the vampire’s flesh.” Sara swallows. 

“I don’t want...want to see him. Just kill him.”

“Darling, you’re going to face that fear and cut it out like a tumor or you are no use to me. You know what I do with things that aren't useful to me. Which is more terrifying? Me, or that whimpering excuse for a mosquito?” Sara swallows, quickly deciding at the moment which is more terrifying to her. I couldn’t say I disagreed after what she had gone through.

“You...you wouldn’t...don’t...“

“No. I don’t. Because all it shows is the attacker’s own inadequacies. Besides there are far worse things.” Sara blinks, not able to think of any at the moment. I can think of far too many. Crowley sighs. “Fine, I will admit I on occasion commit that very specific horror.” Sara tenses. “But I have a very specific way of doing it. I use Lucy, my claymore. She’s long enough to poke through the mouth when I’m done. Very Vlad Tepesh style of torture. That, is an example of ‘worse.’ Do you really want to know more?” Sara shakes her head quickly and silently and Crowley continues his very odd attempt at comfort. “That thing that attacked you is a pitiful excuse for a monster, whereas I am the King of Hell. I am worse. Right now, and if you behave, hopefully for a very long time, I am your...ally. You will be stronger than that mosquito alone if you continue to train. Now….with me? I don’t fancy his chances. So. Am-“

“I get it Crowley. You're scary. But-“

“No. No buts. Order you gelato, and let’s get back to business.” Sara looks at the menu and then at Crowley. Crowley, she’s fucking traumatized. You don’t get what that fear is like. You’ve never been a woman And impotent. You don’t know the scared walks home if your phone is dead and you don’t have pepper spray and-

“And I’m trying to get her back in the saddle before the pile of shit she fell into leaves a stain. So, Sara, choose a flavor, and let’s get a move on.”

“Are...aren’t you getting any?”

“Darling. I’m saving room for the vampire.” Sara’s eyes widen. “You said you were curious, I’m hungry. So I’ll take care of the leftovers.”

“Demons don’t get hungry.”

“Yes, but also no. Mainly metaphor darling. Either way-“

“Signora?” We all look up at the waiter. Sara looks at the menu and points. The waiter nods and takes the menu; quickly off to get the order. Sara still looks horribly tense and afraid. She sits, fidgeting with her jacket and looking at the surroundings. Cars pass by, some on wheels made solely from plant rubber that have a fractal mesh inside for support making them unpoppable because they have no air to fill them, just a lattice. They spin, creating interesting patterns as they turn. Others hover by, expensive things using carbon and magnets. Neon and LEDs light up the night, a myriad of colors playing across buildings and signs. Sara looks everywhere, trying to fill her mind. Crowley, she needs...something?! More help, she’s trying to distract herself, she’s running away, if mentally. Any fear is like a slope, you try to distract yourself and then think about it again and it’s just as bad if not worse for the break. Crowley! Crowley rolls his eyes, he sees far worse things in Hell on a daily basis. However, he wants strong hunters and allies, and if this broke her… Besides the whole feelings thing. 

I get a jolt of pain for that thought. 

“Sara. The only fault lies with the mistake to go in alone.” Sara glares.

“Yeah!? And what if they drag me off?! Huh?!”

“Then get more powerful. Go home, sign the contract, give me a kiss, and train. You still want to be a hunter?” Sara nods. “Then this is something monsters will try to do. Human or otherwise. The only thing You can do, short of sewing up holes or filling them with hook laced hard condoms, is to become stronger than them. Be better. Change the world. So, eat your ice cream, go back, and get started on it.” The ice cream is set down in front of her in a glass with a wooden spoon. It is red with bits of cherry in it. Crowley hands the man a usb wrapped in a piece of paper, and after reading it the waiter nods and leaves. Sara stares, one last attempt at distraction. 

“What was that? Nudes of the guy?” Crowley nods to the ice cream and then looks at Sara, requesting, almost demanding, action. 

“No. A file for the ownership of the domain name of their restaurant. And nudes of the owner. Eat your ice cream.”

………………..

We stand in front of the vampire. He is chained to the chair. Neck, arms, hands, ankles, all tightly bound in metal. His mouth, filled with rags. Sara stands in front of him. Tense and afraid despite having all the power. Crowley sighs again and stands up from his position leaning back against the table. 

“Sara. If you are afraid of something, remove it from the picture.” Sara blinks and looks at Crowley, her mind still sluggish from fear. 

“What?”

“Cut. It. Off.” The vampire begins to struggle, thrashing in the chair. Crowley snaps and he’s still. “None of that. Now. You should use protection.” Sara backs away. 

“What?”

“Well, I’m assuming you don’t want to touch it.” Crowley points to the rubber gloves in his personal torture kit. “I don’t always like touching my toys, I don’t always know who played with them last. So put on the fucking gloves, and cut his dick off.” Sara blinks. “Push that fear down, and imagine what he was going to do to you.” What, why? Why would you ask her to- “do it. Or I’ll do it for you.” Sara swallows and nods, sweat appearing on her forehead, tears in the corners of her eyes. “Good. Now, take all that fear, and make him feel it. Take what he was going to do to you...and do worse to him.” Crowley snaps his fingers and the vampire screams in pain as the gag flies out of his mouth along with most of his fangs, a few of his human teeth, and half of his tongue. Sara stares at the raging impotent thing in front of her, and pauses still. Less afraid, but something still holding her back. I know what she needs to hear. Crowley, she’s a hunter, and a protector. Crowley, do you hear me? 

“Sara. Make him feel worse, punish him, and make sure he pays for what he has probably done to countless others. Make sure he can never do it again. Not to you, not to any other woman.” Now, now we can both see rage boil in her eyes. Self blame is a bitch, low self esteem is a bitch; self loathing and fear and hate fester and it’s hard sometimes to do something for yourself. To forgive yourself, to be better for yourself is difficult; but for the unknown innocent? For what you should have been? For what could be taken from others? That last bit of hesitation melts. 

Crowley smiles and holds out the scalpel. 

“Leave some for Uncle Crowley.”

……………………..

The room is bloody even by my standards. Sara sits in the chair behind the table, just breathing and counting the larger chunks of flesh scattered about the room. Seventeen, including the half of the tongue. She is shivering and twitching occasionally from the aftermath of what she has done. What she has been through, what she almost went through, and what she did go through with. So she counts and recounts, breathes slowly and occupies her mind with something simple for a bit. 

Crowley is lazily stuffing the vampire’s mouth with whole garlic cloves in a sick attempt at humor. Each snap puts another in his mouth. There were twelve now. A few more and the jaw should break. 

The vampire is covered in its own blood, wounds won’t even heal now because there are so many, including the missing personal parts between his legs. Well, it wasn’t missing so much as shoved down the vampire’s throat. Apparently they didn’t really need to breathe. 

“Twenty.” Crowley pauses as Sara’s comment breaks the silence between snaps. 

“Hmm?”

“We’ve cut off twenty pieces of this thing. I think I’m done.”

“It’s only been two hours darling.”

“And yet I’m done. Or let me put it another way. I don’t want to look at him any more. Just… have lunch or whatever.” Crowley pauses. He wants to relax a bit more, but he also has a book he wants to finish. He looks at the bored girl, the audience, and the vampire who is now near unable to react, and the book wins. He snaps and the body explodes, further painting the room red. Except for Crowley’s suit somehow. 

“What the Hell Crowe! That is not eating, that’s just-“ Sara gets quiet as Crowley holds his hand up and closes it, the white grey soul of the vampire appearing in it. It spins and jerks about, trying to escape to Purgatory. Sara watches as Crowley stares at it, she looks at his eyes, at the expression on his face that she doesn’t recognize. With a snap from his other hand the soul twists and flies in a stream of light at Crowley’s whim. It arcs through the air and into his waiting barely open mouth. He breathes in and exhales slowly as soon as it’s gone. He breathes again as the soul settles, tries to get oriented. As soon as it starts to, he snaps again and the soul disintegrates. The energy is pulled into the waiting storm and he happily eats away at it. He opens his eyes to a horrified Sara. He wipes his hands together as if he had eaten something far messier than pure energy and raises a brow. 

“Napkin?” Sara slowly backs away.

“What...you’re... Crowe?”

Oh look Crowley, she’s scared of you again. Good job. Crowley ignores me and smiles. 

“You wanted to see what I’ve been eating, well, now you have.” She pauses in her retreat and looks at the empty chair and the blood that covered near everything. 

“Is...is the vampire?”

“Gone forever? I’ve found there are very few things that can put a soul back together. In ten or so years, even tweezers and super glue won’t help. ” Sara scowls. 

“Good.”

“No, he was a bit slimy actually.” Sara rolls her eyes, a bit more comfortable with the jokes and innuendo. Perhaps for once they had a positive purpose. 

“And why don’t you do this to me? To all of us here?”

“You can’t do a job for me if you’re sitting in my gut. Besides, I happen to enjoy your company.” The incredulity and disgust mix together at his statements before Sara decides to ignore the crassness and go with the impossible part of the statement.

“Really? Really Crowe? A 600 plus year old demon enjoys an 18 year old hunter’s company? Right.” Sara sighs and sits down. Too many things have happened tonight and she is on the verge of another emotional breakdown; she’s entitled to at least five and twice as many beers in my opinion. “How many? How many do you have? How many humans? Monsters?”

“The total is close to 25 million.” Her head snaps up at this, her eyes wide. 

“Mill-million!”

“Most are monsters, if that makes you feel better.”

“Not fucking really! You’re still taking human souls and... We should be hunting you!” Oh boy. This is gonna be a fun discussion. 

“No. I try to keep the earth spinning, the tax for that I think is fair.”

“Fair? What, 5,000 human souls a year is fair!?”

“Darling, try a hundred or so.”

“Really, that’s all? I don’t believe you.”

“Well the intake for Hell is a bit higher, but me personally, I’d get heartburn if I ate that much.” Liar. But, whatever she needs to hear, right ‘Crowe’?

I am once again ignored. Sara still seems wary and angry. Crowley sighs. 

“Darling, I’m just doing my job, I’m trying to restrict my diet to match the earth’s ever increasing population. Besides, the souls I take are usually the ones signing a full blown contract with me. No, not like yours.” He says as she swallows nervously. “So the ones I take are usually Hell bound anyway.” Sara sighs and holds her head in her hands. She stays like that a few moments before looking at Crowley with a tired face. 

“Does my mom know about this?”

“She has an inkling. She’s a smart woman.” Sara curses then glares at Crowley. She sighs then points angrily. 

“Promise.”

“Pardon?”

“Promise! Promise that you’ll do what you say you’re doing with the souls. The amount, the way you're doing it, promise.” Wow. She is ballsy. She is in no position to make demands but, well here she is. Crowley ponders this himself for a moment. Trying to decide what to do. Keeping his thoughts from me so I have no idea what is going to happen. 

Tension rises in the room during the period of silence as the King of Hell deliberates on his options and plans. Whether the pause is really him thinking things through or just a ploy to make it seem like he is, is unknown. However he looks up and nods. 

“I... promise. Until I’m no longer able, only 100 souls a year from earth.” Sara pauses at the wording but takes a breath and nods. I, however, already see two loopholes.

“Good. Now get out of my sight.” Crowley snaps and his tools vanish. He looks around at the red spatters on the walls, and smiles slightly.

“Well, not every date goes perfectly but I at least had a good time. Let’s do this again, real soon. Minus any trauma not caused by yours truly.” He says as he puts his hands in his pockets. 

And we are gone. 


	40. The Untimley Revival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which another attempt to save the world, from someone who doesn't want it, is made.

The news is sudden but not unsurprising. It comes on a warm August evening in 2621. Crowley is going over the reports from Clarissa’s sacrifices, the new church sect in Australia, when Ranni bursts in. This is strange in itself, no one ran into his office without invitation, especially Ranni. It must be a real emergency. She stands wide eyed and breathing heavily. 

“Sir, Uh. We, we.” Crowley stares, gaze impatient and threatening. Ranni takes a breath and tries again. “Sir. We have intel that the...the Winchester’s have escaped heaven.”

Oh shit. Nice. Oh. Oh no. My excitement turns to despair in seconds. Crowley had been preparing for this for decades. I knew about a third of every plan he had and he had a lot of plans. All of them ended poorly for somebody. Crowley stands and puts the papers away, cleans his desk slowly while he talks. 

“How long have they been out?”

“Uh...at least 2 days, at most a week.”

“And their pet angel?”

“That’s where we got the information sir.”

“And you came by him how?”

“He...he was attempting to reach you. He wants to talk. I believe he wants to make a deal.” Oh. Oh I know what the deal is. Fuck. Crowley sighs. 

“Send him down here.” Ranni nods and sends a message while Crowley continues to give directions. “Find me the hardy boy’s current location and where they are planning to put their trap. I want surveillance. Activate my In Absence plan and after I leave start Contingency D if a week passes and you don’t hear from me. Keep feather boy down here for the bargaining chip. If a month passes give Hunter Headquarters Alpha the box on my desk. If two months pass, move to In Absence Plan 2 and tell Rowena to use my office to scry for me and contact the five Cults for assistance with search efforts. If that does not work tell her she may gather the Coven of Three with Dragoness. She will understand.”

Like I said. Many many plans. Ranni nods and leaves quickly as he finishes cleaning his desk. He does not expect to have an easy victory here. He expects to lose, but he is going to lose in very specific ways. And if he really did fail, well, he has plans for that too. The cults he had ‘cultivated’ with the witch Barbara. The Coven of Three: Rowena, Croney, and Ed. One demon witch, one dead witch, and one living warlock. With Dragoness guiding them, the probability they couldn’t get Crowley back...very low. The hunters in the base Sam and Dean used to call home. Hundreds of years making allies, of making as many people on every side of the game board like, or need him, as possible. 

He puts the locked box on his desk, the one containing an envelope, and pushes it to the side. He sits back and listens to my ruminations while he checks his phone for updates on the Winchesters. The heroes. The men who had fought and allied with him on numerous occasions. 

Sure Crowley wasn’t the good guy, he wasn’t a hero, but he was an anti hero to a lot of people. More importantly, he was reliable. He didn’t break promises or deals, it was well known that it was your own damn fault if you didn’t read the fine print. If you tried to cross him. If you were trying to make a deal with him after insulting him, trying to beat him. Basically, you could count on Crowley to work in Crowley’s best interest, and it was in Crowley’s best interest to keep the world spinning. Work against that, or him, and you were an enemy of a whole lot of people who also wanted to keep the world spinning. 

Sure a lot of people didn’t like him, but he got results. The cliche nephilim, the psychic vampire, the witch Julia who had apparently stolen the power of more than a few other witches. All problems he fixed, all stories he let people spread. 

So, he is going to face the Winchester’s confident that if he didn’t come out on top of this fight, he wouldn’t have lost the war.

It’s during this thought that the door opens and Castiel is pushed in. His trench and lovely tan face are covered in blood. Crowley motions to the seat that has appeared in front of the desk and crowns his fingers. 

“Cas, to what do I owe the visit of an angel to Hell?” Cas walks up, one eye swollen and face dour as ever. 

“Crowley. Sam and Dean, they-”

“Escaped?” Cas sighs and sits. 

“Yes. It was supposed to be a trip to visit Jack -“

“Cas. I’m not an idiot.” Cas pauses, and Crowley stands and starts his usual pacing. “They could not have gotten out without your help. You would not have let them out to visit someone who could easily have come upstairs. So, either you let yourself get captured or you’re actually that incompetent. So, which is it?”

“Crowley, I-“ Crowley raises a hand ready to snap and leans forward expectantly. Cas takes a breath and continues. “Crowley. Some of the angels...they went behind my back and recovered their bodies. Some cherubs who were friends with Kerubial-”

“Really? They still haven’t gotten over that?” Cas exhales in anger and continues as if Crowley hadn’t said anything. 

“They have a plan. I don’t know what it is. I tried to discourage them-“

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? Because they don’t belong in this world now. It’s changed, they don’t fit and...I would appreciate it if you didn’t kill them.”

“Cas, you really think I’d kill my old friends?”

“Yes.”

“You're right. I might. So you came here to make a deal, presumably you for them?” Castiel nods. I was right on the money with that. Stupid stupid angel. “See the problem with that is the deal is with you and not them. Do you really think they will back down, ever?” Cas is silent, it’s true, they wouldn’t back down for anything less than each other, maybe not even that. “Besides, I already have a hostage; one I said I’d kill if they interfered, and they interfered.” 

“Is Bobby alive?” Cas’s voice is more dour and monotone than ever as he asks a question he is not sure he wants the answer to.

“For now. So, I’ll keep you as a second hostage and we will see if that works.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Crowley snaps and clamps spring from the chair to cover Cas’s arms and ankles. Crowley walks up to Cas as he sits still, glaring at the King of Hell. I sigh at the idiocy of an angel coming down here when the Winchester’s were out and about. 

“You said it yourself, they don’t belong on earth. Their time is done. It’s the end of an era, so I’ll end the era. Permanently.” 

……………………...

Two days later he gets the call. It flashes on the projected screen of his phone. A name that shouldn’t be there. Not Moose. He smiles and picks up.

“Hello Squirrel.”

“Crowley.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your dulcet tones?”

“You know what Crowley.”

“You mean that I’ve got Cas and Bobby? Or that I’m turning souls into edible confetti?”

“You’ve got Cas?”

“Your fair half-feathered friend came to bargain for your lives.”

“What did you do to Cas?” 

Suddenly we are standing in the middle of a ruined building. Walls crumbled on one side and open to the elements, the building seems a relic out of time. The far wall is obscured by darkness, dust, desks, and bits of fallen concrete.A large circle carved into the cracked floor, not painted. It’s filled with intricate symbols that fill every inch of the two hundred foot area the circle encompasses. A few on the outside shine red. We stand on the far side and Dean stands on the other. The scene looks like something from a video game. Well, this is a boss fight. I hope the boys saved and brought some healing potions. 

“I’ve done nothing, yet. That depends on you.” Crowley smiles, looking at Dean and Sam as they turn and look at him. Sam is holding a book and looking from it to Crowley, mouthing words, preparing for something. Checking over ingredients. “Hello boys. Do we really have to do this?” Crowley presses a button on the phone as he walks to the side of the circle. “It’s less than a hundred human souls a year.” He takes off his coat, setting it and the phone on a pile of concrete outside of the circle. 

“That’s a hundred too many Crowley. And what happens when that’s not enough, huh?” Dean squares the grenade launcher at the King of Hell while Sam starts to incant. The ground starts shaking and the red circle brightens on the concrete. The intricate symbols in it start to hiss and boil. The smell of sulfur permeates the air. Everyone seems extraordinarily unconcerned about it. 

“That’s eons from now Squirrel. Besides, what are you here to do? Kill me? Go ahead, you know it doesn’t stick. You’ll just ruin my suit. Again.”

“Nah. See, you Really shouldn’t have let Bobby visit. Told us all kinds of interesting things.”

“Oh? Did you hear that Chew Toy, they think they found something.” Crowley, stop talking to me like I’m part of this fight. I’m a fucking observer, I got free front row tickets to a show I didn’t ask to attend. 

Dean sneers and begins circling, while Crowley stays still. He does stop pacing occasionally. Sam is still incanting in the background, the smell of sulfur becoming near unbearable. 

“You see, he mentioned demons are a bit more vulnerable on their home turf. So, we’re bringing a bit here.” 

Oh Hell no. 

“Really? That's your ploy? Did he also mention that we’re at our most potent and have a bit more trouble-“

“I don’t care Crowley.” With a final few words the ground cracks and splits, flaking away to reveal red underneath. The familiar stone work that spits fire and sparks at random manifests beneath our feet.Crowley looks down and moves a foot away from a spark just before his shoe gets singed. 

“Well more importantly, what is going to make me vacate my comfy home here?” 

“Because we’ll destroy it if you don’t. Can’t heal it if it’s dust.” 

“Perhaps. I think you just want to see me naked.” Crowley. Stop playing with your food, the longer they are here the more chance they have of winning and the more you just torture… you know what. Never mind. 

“Chew Toy has a point. I really should just kill both of you. No matter how much I admit to enjoying your company.” Dean grins. 

“Well ya see, Bobby mentioned something about that too, how you can only work your grossness on souls that have been damaged. So, Sam here is safe to pick up the gun if you smoke me.” Oh Dean, you self sacrificing idiot. 

“He really is, Chew Toy. You morons both realize Sam’s soul has been twisted and broken from the moment Azazel dribbled blood on him? Not to mention his torture sessions in Hell with Lucifer, or the demon blood he drank. Both of you have put your souls through the wringer more times than I can count. Mark of Cain, demonizing, turning human again, psychic walls, dying and coming back. Boys, you’d practically melt in my mouth like two toffees. So, do we really have to do this? Over a hundred measly souls a year? I’ve left all your monster friends alive in purgatory just for you. I haven’t killed Cas or Bobby. I have a soft spot where you are concerned, right where-”

“Shut it Crowley. We trusted you. We actually thought you might have been an ally.”

“I thought the same of you, on numerous occasions, before you repeatedly Betrayed Me! Fighting Cain. When I first gave you The Colt. The numerous attempts on my life! You're the ones who broke their wedding vows, not me! Besides, what exactly are you planning on ‘offing’ me with?”

“Offing you? No. We’re trapping your ‘pert little ass.’” Shit. Shit. Shit. We watch as Sam holds up a small cube. They got a puzzle box. I do not want to be trapped with Crowley in one of those for eons! I watch as Sam begins pushing the buttons and the thing pulses with energy. Crowley, you do not seem to be concerned about this! Why? 

I am ignored. 

“Really? You think that will be big enough to hold me? Also, I believe I need to be smoke for that to work, not solid.”

“No, you need to be a weak bloody pulp is what you need to be. As long as you’re not in someone else’s body and you’re broken on the ground, the box will still work. And I can do that without a fancy weapon, without The Colt, without magic. I can do that with a good old fashioned grenade launcher.” Crowley snaps and the sound of screeching metal echoes for a moment before the room is filled with the clang of metal hitting stone as Dean drops the remains of his beloved grenade launcher. 

“Sorry Dean. Big Bertha wasn’t invited to this party. Sam however... do join us. Or go get some popcorn and watch while I destroy your brother. Also…” with a thought the puzzle box is in his hand. “Did you really think I’d let you keep it?” He waves and it’s gone. 

“You really think we ain’t got five of these?” Says Dean training his newly drawn gun on Crowley. 

Well look at Squirrel and Moose, finally not relying on one thing that’s easily destroyed or stolen. Let’s get out of here. Being with you for centuries with nothing to do, no thanks. 

I am once again, ignored. 

“I really don’t think you have more. Now-”

The bullets hurt, not with devil’s traps or holy water, but the sheer amount. A machine gun amount. An amount meant to tear up Crowley’s meat suit and destroy it if he didn’t get out now. Crowley is still partial to the body after all. Near five hundred years still partial. He could heal it, perhaps even remake it, but does he want the boys to know that he really is that powerful?

No. No. He is here to have some fun. 

He snaps, and after a burst of burning pain on the chest the body around us just...vanishes. Although the shirts stay and falls to the ground. Crowley and co stay here as well, his smoke racing around the ring toward Dean. Thirteen souls fluttering through the red as he barrels towards his new home. Warding means nothing now after all. Not to a protogod. Not to something with nearly 30 million in the bank. Not to Crowley. 

He slams into Dean and Sam’s screams echo as he makes himself at home. Crowley stretches his new hands and holds the corner of the flannel collar up to his nose, and wrinkles it in disgust. 

“Honestly Squirrel, they invented washing machines hundreds of years ago. And a machine gun Samuel? Did you not stop at a munitions store on the way? Oh...that’s right. You don’t have your DNA in the database, you’re men out of your time. You’re just lucky Cas buried your cliche car with your burnt bones.” 

“ _You sonofabitch-“_ witch. “ _I’ll...who the fuck is there?”_

“Dean, meet Chew Toy, the soul you didn’t think existed.” Crowley looks at the gun in his hand and waves it away with a thought as Dean senses me. 

_“The cunt who caused all this? You bitch I’ll-_ “ I recoil at the anger for a moment and then relax. It isn't as strong as mine was. I had dabbled in the art of self loathing while I was alive, probably perfected after I died. So what Dean is throwing at me, I am used to it. I hadn’t felt it constantly for about fifty or so years now, but still. 

Dean is probably the opposite, he had perfected it during his life, and had started to forgive himself after death. 

Crowley is about to ruin that progress. 

“Really Dean? Blaming her? I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t woken me up. Hadn’t been so terrified of just talking, of going to Hell and turning into a demon, of trusting that things would get better with time. Sam would have been fine.” 

_“We know that now!”_

“You knew that then, you were just too afraid to risk it.” 

Crowley watches Sam circle outside the ring, listening to a conversation he can half hear. 

“Crowley, get out of my brother.”

“No. I don’t think I will. It’s cozy in here, with all the hate and doubt, just like Hell.”

“Crowley, you-“

“Really Sam. You're going to threaten me when I can do this?” Crowley snaps and a soul next to Dean evaporates. 

_“What the fuck?!”_ Crowley takes a deep breath and rides the waves of anger and fear coming from Dean, then snaps again. Sam swallows, and trains his gun on Crowley, in Dean’s body remade. 

“What are you doing Crowley?”

“Oh, that’s right, you can’t see the long line of souls I’m destroying. The one that ends with your brother’s. So Moose, keep threatening me.”

“Get out of my brother!” Crowley turns to the right to see another Winchester walk up. The honorary one. Jack. 

“Hello Jack. You know Sam. This is why I didn’t want to fight. I was hoping not to involve the kid.”

“You ate my baby sister!” Crowley scoffs at Jack. 

“That thing wasn’t even a nephilim. It was a cliche. Besides, I didn’t eat her. I ate the mother, they just happened to be conjoined at the time.” 

Jack’s face is filled with hatred as he walks up. He looks far older. His hair in a long braid and shorn short everywhere else. It has a streak of white through the dusty brown. His face is squarer, and covered in stubble. His red leather jacket covers the newest Tri-City style of shirt made with a myriad of buckles. Jeans never went out of style. 

“I left you alone Crowley; you were organizing Hell, less demon related slaughters than ever. But now-“

“They attacked me. I was content to live and let-“

“Get out of my brother!” The ground shakes with Jack’s anger and Crowley raises his hands. 

“ _Jack, don’t let him leave with my-“_ Dean’s warnings can’t be heard… and it’s too late. Crowley’s voice exits from Dean’s mouth one last time.

“Never say I’m not a gentleman.”

Crowley flies out and Sam runs up with indeed another puzzle box. This one is clear, and crystalline. He starts to open it as Crowley’s last bit leaves Dean, a white orb flickering at the end. He has twelve now. 

_“Should I just let them put me in the box Chew Toy? Let them slowly discover their brother’s soul is trapped with me?”_ What? No! “ _You’re right, they’ve done that story arc_.”

 _“What, you’re taking advice from a soul now? What the Hell is going on Crowley?”_ Dean's voice echoes in the smoke but all he receives is a mental chuckle from the King of Hell. 

The box starts to pull Crowley toward it, quickly spiraling his smoke into a funnel. He flies up, away from the box; stretching like a genie refusing to go in it’s lamp. The sky is fiery red turning into a cool dark, the end of the day approaching. It gets farther and farther away, and I’m sure I’ll be trapped for eternity with Crowley, Dean, and the eleven other souls that aren’t in a prison right now. 

Of course, that would be until Sam figures out Dean's soul is missing. 

_“We made a deal... nameless... voice…. bitch! We stop Crowley, even if one of us doesn’t come back.”_ Oh yeah like that’ll last more than three days. “ _Hey!”_ What? I’ve seen, read, and heard about you. You could have nearly ended suffering a few times but didn’t because it meant you’d lose each other. 

“ _She’s right Dean. It’s what I love about you two. It makes you so easy to manipulate once you figure out the rules.”_

There’s a shift in weight, a feeling of solidity, and a loud thud as Crowley’s feet, his real feet, hit the ground. The ground shakes with his first step as he divides the impact of his fall between bisected legs and a hand with claws so long and sharp they cut the rock beneath them. 

“Holy fuck.”

“Hello Samuel.” The voice coming out of the mouth in his chest sounds like razors. He stands, the six needle points that serve as feet scratching the rock like nails on a chalkboard. His form stretches up to the sky and Sam and Jack look up in horrified awe. Standing up at 25 some feet, crown above a faceless head, strange chitinous protrusions on his back, large stomach on an otherwise lithe form...he is a horror to see. The mouth on his chest smiles as he straightens and he holds up a clawed hand, one of four, and tosses a shining orb up and down. The blank face turns to look at it and as it does features appear. 

“Dean, how are we feeling today?” Dean’s face looks out from the head atop the monstrosity that is Crowley’s true form. Crowley regards the soul before him for a brief second before turning a cruel grinning face to the body that has started to make its way toward Sam. 

“Dean. Dean?” Sam’s face looks quickly from Crowley to Dean and back again, concerned with the strange intent of his brother’s gate.

“Dean‘s got something he’d like to share with you Sam, can’t you tell?” He snaps with one of his other hands and a dagger appears in Dean’s. It is immediately raised up with the intent to use. “I believe it’s fratricide.” The voice still sounds of razors but it’s mixing with the accent I’ve become accustomed to that comes from the regular mouth. The strange mix of the two voices makes me hurt even though I lack ears. Crowley looks at the orb in his hand. “So while you deal with your family issues… I’m going to make sure I don’t get put in your toy box.” Dean's face melts away on Crowley as Dean's makeshift body walks with purpose towards Sam. Sam looks from Crowley to his brother and back, trying to decide where to focus his attack. Jack holds out his hand and Dean floats into the air, leaving Sam free to reload the machine gun. However that means neither is attacking Crowley, whose face now resembles the one I’ve become accustomed to. 

Crowley could have manifested with the soul already in a prison, but he is a showman. He needs them to see this, if only for them to believe it. So while Jack is busy holding the murderous body in place, Crowley holds the glowing orb over his second mouth. “Well, I’ve never had Squirrel before but, first time for everything.”

“No!” Crowley smiles as Dean’s soul drops, disappearing between teeth. He smiles at Sam’s expression. He smiles at the sound Dean’s body makes as it hits the ground. He smiles at the yellow glow in Jack’s angry eyes. Jack raises a hand and Crowley backs up, all four of his hands in the air. 

“Ah Ah, Jackie darling. Attack, and Dean’s gone. Forever. You may be able to do many things, but you can’t rebuild a soul. So, he’ll stay right here.” Crowley points down to his stomach, overlarge for his otherwise spindly form, but five stomachs will do that. “Safe and sound touching all the right places.” Jack yells and waves of energy blast out, bowling Crowley over. Two of the arms catch him as he falls, the force now sending him skidding across the red stone with sparks flying from his feet.

“Jack! He’ll kill Dean!” Yells Sam, furious and scared. 

“No, he won’t. Bobby said it takes ten years for a soul to die. I can put him back together! I just need to get him!” Crowley applauds with two hands while he uses another to push himself to his spindly feet. The last arm, well Dean’s body had gotten blasted away too, and was within reach. 

“Very good Jack. That means you have five years before half of him is gone, before what you recover is barely Dean. So, since you seem so keen to start a timer, let’s.” I feel the movement, the shifting of organs as his body tightens then relaxes, as a soul, actually four, are moved from next to me into a far more lethal place. Crowley didn’t need more than Dean, but he has taken them. Dean, who had landed briefly next to me and was trying to get his bearings; trying to ignore the waves of hunger, pleasure, and need that were so intense in Crowley’s physical form. Crowley is leaning into them happily here, dangerously enthusiastically. He has at least two plans that I know of, and Dean had just begun to get an inkling of them from me before he had been whisked away... for dinner. 

Crowley snaps and I feel the telltale release of energy from a disintegrating soul, whether that was in fact Dean’s, or one of the others, I have no idea. I can feel every muscle tense then relax with the wave of energy. Crowley’s second tongue licks razor sharp teeth hungrily and seductively in a way that is sure to disgust and, more importantly, distract. Sam swallows as he trains the gun on the monstrosity before him. 

“What did you do Crowley?”

“Well, assuming Robert told you about my rather unique anatomy, about the problems of being in this form, the five stomachs, the prisons.... I moved some souls around, did some housekeeping; and while I was I noticed something. Most are rather empty at the moment boys.” As he talks the unconscious soulless husk is brought up from behind him, the limp body dangling from very long pointy fingers. They end in points, the nail curving down from the finger as well as back up creating two blades, one at each end. The hands hold the body, dropping it from one to the other, so both are grabbing it, pulling it up towards the second mouth in Crowley’s chest as they turn the unconscious form into a better position. “Dean’s volunteered to fill two. That leaves another two for you.” And the body quickly follows the soul through the gaping maw, pushed in as if it were nothing more than a hotdog. 

Jack yells out and Crowley waves a hand to send him flying out of the circle before he can start to use his powers. “I hate it when the waiter checks in when your mouth is clearly full. I’ve got two, but still.” 

I cringe. The body has woken up at the first hint of pain. It is thrashing, but that only makes things worse; more teeth, more chewing, more crunching of bones. Crowley of course loves it, a being of pure sin, he waits and watches Sam’s horror with glee. He chews, the odd musculature of his chest moving, tongue feeling the cracking of bones for a moment more before a particularly loud snap renders the body motionless and mercifully dead. He swallows, and I can sense it. I don’t know how to react, because all I can feel right now is his want to do it again. It consumes me, makes me want it, bursts into my darkest corners and pulls them out. I can feel myself breaking, my white edges slowly fraying with some unnamable thing. 

“I’ve always wanted to try that. I was once a mere 7 feet in this form, but thanks to my new diet, well I’ve gained more than three inches this time. Enough to fulfill that fantasy quite nicely. Want to help me fulfill some more Moose? How long do you think I could keep you alive, sitting next to your brother’s corpse? I believe I can sacrifice a few years in Hell to stay in this form and find out.”

During this conversation bullets have been ripping into his flesh as Sam stares, face twitching at Crowley’s comments as he shoots. The lead is often just annoying but in this form, it feels nothing short of exquisite. Any other demon would be on the ground, but the king, with the crown, with all those souls...healing himself? These are nothing but minor stings of pain that feel like caresses. They stop as Crowley finishes his taunt, and the sound of reloading fills the air as the huge demon slowly walks toward Sam. 

“Sammy Samual Samantha. I really did want to leave you two alone. Even little Jackie too. But now, here, with you basking in my glory? Well, it makes me hungry.” Jack returns to see a shoe fall out as Crowley’s second mouth shrieks. Wet with blood it lands with a splat and rolls towards him, coming to a stop at his own feet. Jack's eyes flare up and Crowley grins. “Oh yes, hit me Jackie one more time.” 

“I will tear his soul out of you!” Jack grips the air and pulls. Crowley is easily put into a constrictive invisible force and lifted into the air. He laughs, the sick sound of razor blades from his second mouth mixing with the laughter from his regular face, which had finally lost that sound of grating steel. Then with a ripping motion from his hands, Jack opens Crowley’s gut. Crowley screams like a good little actor who didn’t enjoy the pain at all and doubles over. The sound rends the air with the intensity of millions of souls and Jack drops Crowley who hits the ground with a thud, blood pooling from his side. The skin and muscle is torn open to reveal bone, lines and lines of thin malleable iron rod like cartilage. The bars of jail cells filled with glowing light, all different shapes and sizes. As Crowley rights himself flesh falls as swings like a book cover revealing four of the five cages. He looks down and I get a glimpse of what I had only ever seen from the inside. One is sloshing with red near solid smoke that whirls around souls and tears at them with an eagerness far too intelligent for digestive fluids. Another is filled with a few souls, an echo or two and paper contracts, the words of which seem to float and dance ethereally around the cage and constrict the few souls that live there, like me. One, though they would likely only see a small corner, is too full of white light to look at directly. The direct link to all of Hell’s souls the king claimed as his. The prison at the top drips bile and acid, and as Crowley grins and shifts another shoe drops out of it, and a half crushed skull surrounded by ripped up flannel rolls to the front. 

“You can see there is plenty of space to rent out, but I’m afraid I have to close viewing for today unless you intend to take a closer look.” One hand reaches down to the layer of skin and muscle and fat that Jack has ripped open and pulls what it can back up to cover the wound. Crowley moves another hand across it and some of the cuts vanish, being sewn up by pure will and energy. 

“You will release him!” Another blast of orange gold energy impedes his efforts, wracks every soul there with pain. The wounds reopen and every soul screams as the bone jails are crushed. Through the pain Crowley grins, and throws out his own power to fling Jack away again. 

“Jackie, I’m the King of Hell. I control where those souls are, not you. You may warp reality but I believe it requires a bit of will and concentration to get desired results from something that fights back. Can you really do that when you know that you're putting the souls in pain, not me? Every soul in Hell is mine. As king I have a direct link, right here.” Crowley runs a hand up the opening in his side, pulling back more skin to reveal the glowing mass of souls that moves constantly as they step forward in the line. They are in turmoil now, circling and flying around like confused mice after the jolt of pain. They vanish from view as Crowley’s hand heals the wound. “And every time you try to break my control, well it hurts them. All of them. You hurt every single one of the billions down there, not me.” Jack backs away, horrified at the results of his attack on Crowley. His eyes widen as he falls back on old fears and inadequacies, failure and his seeming inability to control his collateral damage. Not knowing whether to believe him or not. 

I know for a fact that what Crowley said is true. Horrifyingly true. The King of Hell stands again, hunched over to look the nephilim in the face, preying on his fears.

“Really, you’re going to hurt them after all they’ve been through in Hell? Just to hurt me? Just to free one soul? That’s selfish even for a Winchester, Jackie.” I thought Jack was more powerful than this...of course, I still didn’t know how accurate the show was in relation to God, Jack… that stuff. The ever increasing odds required to keep viewers, how much had been changed from Sam’s journal? How much could have happened and been canceled out by God or Jack? Not noticed by humanity? Either way, Jack didn’t want to harm billions of souls just to hurt Crowley.

“Don’t listen to him Jack, he’s a demon! He lies!” Crowley’s second mouth hisses its displeasure as Crowley turns his head to Sam.

“I really don’t.Not outright, not often Sammy. You know that. Besides, even if you ignore their agony, it is very hard for a demon to feel pain in this form.” His second mouth speaks, the razors making the words all the more unbearable, the words directed at the nephilim seem to rend the air with their horrid implications. “Really, you’re making me rather excited. While I’m not usually a bottom, I might make an exception today. I long to have you inside me, both of you. I’m a big boy, I can handle it.” Crowley’s face changes again suddenly, a rather familiar maw screeching and hissing as he charges. A leviathan mouth rushes at Sam who dodges out of the way and leaves the circle. Crowley grasps for him but as his arm leaves the bit of Hell on earth it becomes smoke, ethereal claws raking Sam’s face drawing just the slightest bit of blood. Sam backs away on all fours, gasping and spluttering at the monstrosity whose food is just out of reach. Crowley’s face changes again as he stands again, his second tongue lazily licking his bloody claws as he rights himself.

Bernard looks out, his teeth sharp and eyes feral with a look that had probably never been there while Sam and Dean had known him. His beautiful dark skin mixing at the edges with a horrid shade of red that had made those of a lighter complexion just look rosy, but made him look hungry. A sound sends Crowley racing to the other side of the circle. Jack freezes at the outskirts as the King of Hell skids to a stop at the red line. I cringe, Crowley is enjoying this, this false feral act, this ploy. This vulgarity and bluntness he usually didn’t employ. He hisses and then begins to pace the perimeter as he speaks in Bernard’s voice. 

“C’mon in boys. You know Ah don’t drink blood no more. I kicked that habit long ago.” The sound of bullets precedes the waves of ecstasy by seconds. They do damage, a bit more than before Sam reloaded. With some concentration I can tell they ache, unlike the first rounds. Perhaps these had been blessed. Crowley could use this change if it came to that. So many plans, so many ideas. I can feel the brief thought as he allows the wounds to stay, pouring a dark crimson onto the red stone that quickly absorbs it, as Hell is wont to do. 

As he passes by Sam again, the hunter notices the wounds. 

“Jack! The holy bullets! Get the blessed bullets!” Crowley turns and hisses, the face vanishing to be replaced by one with blonde hair and a warm smile. 

“Sam. Would you really shoot your mother? In the face? How cold.” Sam swallows and his jaw clenches. 

“You really think that’s gonna work Crowley?” I sigh. No. No. He’s playing a part you idiots. He’s distracting you! Crowley laughs, his face shifting back to his own. 

“No boys, but that’s why it’s so much fun. The face Sam made then will be one I cherish forever. I can’t wait to see the ones you’ll make while I rip you apart.” Crowley’s arms reach out at Sam, almost grabbing him before they revert to smoke. Sam steps back again, breathing hard. Screeches of frustration fill the air from his second mouth. The sound of razors and nails on chalkboards cause Sam to drop the gun and Jack to drop the bag he was grabbing from behind some rubble. The scream continues to painfully rend the air as he talks with his stolen mouth. 

“C’mon Samuel, you were always so eager to attack me when I was shorter than you, you’re being rude now that the situation is reversed.” Sam scrambles for the gun as Crowley reaches out again, his arm turning into smoke as he crosses the line. The smoke barrels towards Sam, intent on doing the same thing it did with Dean. 

“I’m going to enjoy possessing you, for the brief moment it takes to walk you back in this circle so I can put you next to your brother. I’ll even open a window for some air like Jackie did. Let you watch as I break him. Let him watch, powerless, as I crush you into atoms.” Sam backs away as the smoke reaches towards him, Crowley’s form evaporating. I have sat in silence, watching the horror like I would have the show, there being nothing I can do except give him ideas that will only make things worse. “Samuel, Luci was an uncreative amateur. In many ways. Let me show you.”

Crowley’s voices fade as his face and chest dissolve into smoke. He rushes out, his last bit now ethereal when there is a scream. 

“No!” We are blasted apart and away from Sam, a cloud tumbling through the air in a golden miasma of power. 

“Jack! Into the box!”

“But Dean!”

“We’ll figure it out! Hurry!” Crowley struggles as the golden energy pushes him towards the box, thrashing in an effort to escape. “He’s fighting it! Hold on! He’s scared!”

Oh. Oh no. Crowley’s thoughts don’t match that at all. From the brief glimpse I get, this is going to work fine with one of his many plans. As he’s twisted into the box I can feel him effortlessly moving around souls, pulling every single one out so that they can keep him company, just in case he is in there for a long time. Wouldn’t want to come out of the box in the middle of withdrawal after all.

The box takes over from Jack and the smoke is pulled into the small space. Everything is squeezed impossibly small; the magic hurts for a moment then with a click the box closes. With how clear it is we can see everything. We can see Sam pick up the puzzle box and stare at it, anger painted on his face with blood and dust. Jack comes up with a similarly painted face, neither bare any grievous wounds, the blood is Crowley’s or Dean’s.

“Is Dean still alive? Should I get him out of there?”

“We can’t risk breaking the box Jack, not yet. We need a better plan. We’ll have to stash it while we do some research.”

Oh. Oh no. Oh, you poor fools.

 _“What? What’s going on? What the Hell Crowley?!”_ Dean asks in confusion. Crowley laughs.

_“Where did you think they’d take it, Chew Toy? I made ‘friends’ for a reason.”_


	41. The Demon's Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which another foolish bargain is made, drinks are had, and a plan set in motion.
> 
> Just a note on how I write the character who's point of view this is from, in case people think it's unrealistic. I write Crowley, then I write the first reaction that comes to my mind for the main character. And I don't change that even if it completely messes up their plans, derails the story, or fucks them over. The only time I ever change the actions of the POV character is if I'm re-reading and realize Crowley wouldn't have reacted that way, or wouldn't have let something happen, and then I write a new reaction. 
> 
> That is all.

It’s surreal; being driven along with Crowley and Co. in a glass box held in Sam’s hands. Jack is driving. Cars have changed too much since Sam and Dean have been gone. They have a long way to drive and no place to teach Sam the neural controls or get his DNA into the system and registered without alerting anyone. 

They had chosen one of the older towns for staging the fight, one that hadn’t been rebuilt, gentrified, or updated. As a result it was kind of remote. They were almost empty after all. These old towns that were out of date and out of code; some districts just didn’t have the ability to demolish and rebuild yet. The economy had changed greatly after all; half of currency was goods and services, the other was credit based in shares of companies and stocks. Hundreds of years ago plastic had been banned, then rubber, then oil. It had taken a war, and a few deals with demons, but it had been done. Metal, wood, stone, and carbon based materials; these were the building blocks being used today. Finally, with the money and gathering of appropriate minds, a committee had figured out small scale deconstruction of carbon dioxide on a molecular level. There may have been a deal or five involved in that considering the output was diamond and graphite, two highly sought after materials. 

Those souls were in R&D downstairs now, researching how deals might work if humans did in fact more heavily populate Mars instead of just using it for research facilities for terraforming. From all guesses, and research involving a space station and an aptly placed malfunctioning satellite, as long as a human was willing to make a deal and had the ability to call out for help, a demon could get there. After all, the crew miraculously found extra repair materials that were not accounted for on the roster.

Either way, the future looked strange. Stone and metal roads with magnetic rims, buildings with rounded edges due to higher winds; after all, the oxygen separated from the carbon had to go somewhere. Humans were always stupid, they managed to get the carbon out and then flooded the atmosphere with too much oxygen. They had caught on after a particularly bad season of wildfires devastated multiple nations.

Lot’s of deals went down that year. 

The damage from climate change had been done though, storms were heavier, changed even a bit more due to the shift to an oxygen rich atmosphere. There were some plants burning coal in the south to mitigate that a bit, after all now humans Needed that diamond like they Needed that gas or Needed those cute plastic phone cases. So they needed to figure out what to do with the oxygen, they were bottling some of it, using it to fuel ships and such. 

_“I notice you are still thinking ‘Them’, not ‘we’ Chew Toy.”_

I sigh as Crowley invades my being, only now noticing that I have a more attentive audience than I thought. Dean was listening. 

_“So, what? Is this better? Are there less monsters?”_

No. No there aren’t, but they are different. There are fewer and fewer feral things, more and more hiding in plain sight. With DNA registration they either had to get smart, or get exterminated and experimented on. New smarter monsters, new smarter hunters. So, you either got smart, adapted and evolved, got a symbiote, or you died.

_“Symbiote?”_

A human willing to feed you or sell lab grown human meat. There are monsters working in bio regen and growth so they don’t have to hunt, it’s just too risky in parts of the world. If you wanted the high comforts of life, and to eat, you got a symbiote and worked toward peace. You didn’t, then you fled to the war ravaged parts, the downtrodden, the ruins.

 _“Wait, monsters are working towards...peace?”_ Some, sure. The ones that want to blend into society. Others are trying to figure out how to better trick DNA registration systems, make kills look more like accidents, or how to make evidence vanish. Find a ghoul, a vampire, something else, work together, leave no evidence. Times changed. Hunt smart, or die. Eat smart, or die. Get smart, or die. Newest consensus is, if it’s working toward peace and lab grown meat, leave it alone. 

Dean sits in silence, trying to take in the new world. The problems I am talking about are mainly in the updated cities, a few towns. The rest of the world is playing catch up to the hubs of civilization since the commonality of diamonds upset the jewelry industry, the art industry, the drilling industry, the computer industry, the robotics industry, and more. Diamond isn’t just a shiny rock, it is used to cut things, build microchips, super dense heat sinks, even housing reinforcement for the obscenely wealthy. That upset the economy for a few years, and just when it was recovering from figuring out what to do without the oil moguls, the coal plants, the plastics industry. 

A lot of deals went down that year too. Crowley however ignored all the ones asking for the oil industry to be saved. That needed to be gone, he had been working toward that for hundreds of years. He needed the earth here if he wanted to actually do his job. Sickly irradiated humans dying from war, nuclear winter, or wiped out by climate change, not a great situation for making enough humans to keep Hell running. 

_“Wait, Crowley helped end-”_

_“No. I did not. I gave a few humans the opportunity to, and they fixed it. I have done a lot of other things though.”_

_“Don’t wanna know about your alone time Crowley. You weren’t exactly wearin’ pants back there in that fight.”_ It’s true. He liked suits but they did not make them in that size.

_“Well, I’d say the extra three inches transferred over, but-”_

_“Oh my god shut up!”_

Both Crowley and I chuckle at Dean’s distress.

 _“Really, you’re comfortable with that?”_ I’d seen so much worse, been through so much worse, and had been to art school. I drew dicks on a regular basis for a year. _“Oh gross.”_ Really? And you wouldn’t have jumped at the chance to model nude, and get paid, in front of art students, many female? Right Dean, sure. “ _Wait, that's a thing?”_ Yes, yes it is. You have to hold a pose for various lengths of time though. Could you stand still with your left arm raised, leaning down, with your other arm and foot extended so I could get good definition on your shoulder muscles and the way the glutes stretch? Could you do that for 30 minutes? _“Uhhhh._ ” If you can do that, you get paid.

“Jack, uh. Where...Where are you living now? These buildings all look expensive.” We are jolted out of our silent conversation by Sam who is looking at the rounded buildings with stone and metal plating.

“This is standard living for this neighborhood now. If it isn’t made of metal and carbon based alloys, it’s wood and stone with some metal. The cheapest houses are made of thinner metal that is tempered after being bent into place.”

“Wait, they temper it after it’s built?”

“It is cheaper with the oxygen levels higher. The insides are finished after the shell.”

“How, how do you know this Jack?”

“I helped build houses for one lifetime. It was very fulfilling. Using the magnetic crane was fun. Very similar to using my own powers to hold or levitate objects in the air.” Sam blinks.

“You… built houses?”

“Yes. For thirty six years.” I’m chuckling again. Crowley had kept a low key eye on Jack. Mainly to make sure he wasn’t nearby unless they had planned to meet. We had seen his development from a frantic youth to a slightly more level adult. He still looked not a day over thirty, but that was today. He had looked 58 two years ago. He had learned quickly that people notice when you don’t age, so he would occasionally move and start again. He had to change down to the DNA every 90 years, and hack the registration system so he was in there. It had been rough learning how to be stealthy and blend in. He didn’t want to stand out, but when half of you is numb and angelic and fighting with your human side, it can be hard to not.

 _“Jack had it hard?”_ He adapted, he had a few pitfalls, but he’s here. 

_“We had a lovely discussion some 300 years ago and made a deal a-”_

_“Jack Made A Deal With You!?_ ” Ow. That was loud. I don’t have ears and that was loud. Don’t think-yell so loudly. Jack’s fine.

_“She’s right. Not that type of deal Squirrel. Just that I keep my demons' involvement up on earth to three things: research, deals, and the occasional vacation. And he’d leave them alone. We did sign, and I did take his soul for a hot second, but that was the entirety of the deal.”_

_“Liar.”_

_“Well, a little bit. Just that he Couldn’t harm my demons if they were only doing those three things. The minute they stepped out of line, well, let’s say I gave him some addresses on occasion. Boy came in handy.”_

_“But you broke the deal! You’re up here, takin souls, tempting people, and who know what else!”_

_“Did I? No, I don’t think I did.”_ I sigh and spell it out for Dean. The deal was for his demons, not him. As far as Crowley’s concerned them fighting each other has always been an option.

_“You sneaky-”_

_“Demon. I really don’t understand why people keep having trouble with the concept that the King of Hell is a Demon!”_ I sigh. This was going to be a long ride.

………………………………………

We arrive at the Bunker three days later. On foot because you don’t drive in this part of the desert unless you wanted to get noticed.

It’s night time and Sam would be freezing if it weren’t for Jack and Crowley putting off immense heat. I had no idea if Crowley is doing it on purpose, or is just doing it. Anyway, Sam didn’t get frostbite. 

They stand in front of the invisible door in the ground trying to decide how to go about this. Sam hasn’t had a key for a very long time. Jack didn’t need one, but he hadn’t been here for a long time either. He left only 100 years after Sam and Dean, to make his own way. Experience things other than hunting. He was immortal after all, he could help in other ways. Faith healer. Search and Rescue. Cleaning and purifying water in smaller countries. Helping with diseases. He traveled for a long time. So, he hadn’t been to the bunker for a long time either. Entering unannounced wouldn’t garner any favors. 

Sam walks up and knocks on the ground. There is no response. No one can hear the outer door, they knew he was here though. That rock to the right was new, and I’d bet it had a camera. This was the first test after all, can you get the invisible door open? For a demon, it was easy, for a human... Sam sighs and hands the box to Jack, who takes it reluctantly. Kneeling on the ground Sam draws the symbol of the Men of Letters on the hidden door and then continues an intricate series of glyphs around it. I wonder if he had to do this every time there wasn’t someone in the bunker to let him in to the door where the key worked.

_“Every damn time. It was fuckin’ annoying.”_

_“I can imagine.”_

_“Shut up Crowley.”_

_“Dean, do you understand the situation you’re in right now? That I could destroy you? Torture you? I could have you calling out my name and title for a myriad of reasons within a week.”_

_“I’ve been tortured in Hell before Crowley.”_

_“Yes, and you broke. I’m far more efficient than Alastair.”_

_“He was the appointed torturer in Hell, and you think you know more than him? Give it a rest Crowley.”_

_“I spent many a lazy year watching him. So I know all his tricks. That isn’t what’s important though. What’s important is that I know You.”_ It’s true. You could have no experience, but if you knew a person well enough, that didn’t matter. Crowley knew me, he knew every aspect of me, and he knew what to do. However, he has been very careful. He wants a permanent toy. If there was a better metaphor I’d use it because we are certainly not lovers, but he knew me like one. I knew him a bit too...if there was another metaphor I’d use it, but… Friends isn’t quite right. I was certainly not his equal. Slave was not apt either, unless you accounted for Stockholm syndrome. I wasn’t broken, because he didn’t want that. He didn’t want a blubbering quivering mess that couldn’t do anything besides the basest of fearful reactions. So I wasn’t broken in that sense. So many other ways, but not that way. So... broken in was still the only thing that came close to the metaphor of lovers. Which we were still certainly not. 

_“Gross.”_ Thank Dean. I’d never thought of that. You spend a couple hundred years with him and see how you do. We might. Well… That depends on how long Crowley can last. _“Last? What, you mean exist? Wait...You don’t mean like in bed?! Ok. I do not need that image!”_

_“Dean, even if you want to fantasize about me in bed, that is not what this is about. Like many druggies I didn’t kick my addiction, I just moved to a different drug.”_

_“What? You moved to…. Oh. C’mon Crowley, really?”_

_“Demon.”_

_“That’s sick Crowley!”_

_“Still a demon.”_

_“Seriously low for even you.”_

_“Oh, look...De-mon.”_

_“Oh hey.”_

_“Well now.”_

During our little conversation Sam had gotten the door open. It raises up with a hiss of warm air and the stairs below are revealed. We descend into the darkness. The door closes behind us and soon the lights flick on. Sam and Jack walk slowly and tentatively, not knowing what was in store from their old home. 

Jack looks at the box, red smoke churning it is visibly swirling with little white orbs moving around. Taunting. To make a point Crowley destroys one of the souls in an explosion of white as Jack watches, the glitter quickly being swept away in another cloud of red. Jack's eyes flash yellow in rage at the obvious taunt. The entire prison is wracked with pain and Crowley laughs. If he had a face he’d be grinning. The pain stops suddenly as Jack remembers that pain he causes Crowley goes through every soul he owns… He’s not sure if that extends to every soul in Hell, but it definitely extends to Dean. 

“Dean...”

_“It’s ok kid, do it again. I can withstand it just to see the bastard twitch.”_

_“Oh, you thought that hurt in a bad way? Poor Dean-”_ Oh my god both of you, please admit your love and just fuck. _“Only if I get to top this time.”_ Sure-... Wait. This time?

 _“Shut up Crowley.”_ He has no face, but I can feel the sly smile from the demon.

Jack watches the cube as they descend, every few moments a white soul bursts into sparks. Shortening the amount of time Crowley has before withdrawal, getting closer to a high now, unless he put those souls back together after Jack left. He might have to if he wanted Dean and myself to come out of this alive.

“Sam, how do we know that Dean isn’t…”

“Because Crowley is a sadist and would save him for last, he’s also his bargaining chip.”

“So when there is only one left…”

“Two. He has a...pet.” 

_“Listen to that Chew Toy. Moose remembers you.”_ Shove it Crowley, or eat me. _“I might.”_ Then go ahead, I- _“You’re supposed to paint with Dragoness next week.”_ Oh. Oh right. Can you kill me after that please? 

_“Wait, you’re asking Crowley… for. Wait. Paint?!”_

_“Darling Squirrel. It’s best to give Dragoness what she wants.”_

_“Wait...the dragon? The Dragon dragon?”_

_“Yes...she-”_

By now we are at the door. The sigil sparkles as if recently polished, as normal. There are four souls left, including Dean and myself. Jack is livid and Sam’s face is stoney. He had noticed the little bursts of light too. They stand at the door and Sam pauses, then raises his hand to knock.

The door opens… and Sam and Jack are face to face with a shotgun, a pressurized water pistol, a high voltage taser, and a hex bag thrown at their feet.

“You got three seconds to explain who the Hell you are before we blow you to bits.” Sam swallows. The woman behind the three in the front stands with her arms crossed. Sara. She’s more than a few years older. Her hair is still spiked and blackened at the ends, but her figure has filled out not by weight, but by bulk, muscle, and age. Her clothes are all black, but the added addition of a wonderful red trench coat completes the ensemble now. Ed stands next to her, spellbook in hand, ready with another hex bag. He is also older, but he looks much the same, as if age had not touched him as harshly. His experiments had however, and one of his eyes is now only a glowing hole, normally hidden by an eye patch that is now flipped up. He had studied under Rowena and Croney after all, age and lost bits meant nothing.

The three in the front are hard eyed and ready. Two are younger, one holding the shotgun and the other the taser. They both have long red hair, braided in a single braid to the side. One is a girl and one is a boy, they both have freckles and are grinning. The older man has a beard, but can’t be older than 25 despite having the eyes and scars of someone far older. He holds the water gun, the tank on the back filled with what is probably blessed acid instead of holy water. Sam swallows again. 

“I’m Sam Winchester.”

“He’s dead.” Says Sara.

“I’m Jack.” 

“Jack...who?”

“Jack Kline.” There are hard stares. “The nephilim.” The guns don’t lower, instead another hex bag is thrown, larger and black. “You do know what a nephilim is?”

“Oh yeah. We know, we know who you are. IF you’re here that even might be Sam Winchester. Or you could be shifters, or witches.”

“Not demons?”

“Mean demons don’t come here.” The younger girl says. Looking at them more closely they are probably about twelve, and both sport a widening grin, one is missing a tooth.

“Yeah, only-”

“Ted, Tana. Shh.”

“Yes Momma.” The twins answer in tandem and Sam swallows. He looks at the box, then immediately back at Sara, hoping she hadn’t noticed. He is quickly realizing it might have been a bad idea to come here. Sara and Ed both see the quick look however. Sara inclines her head.

“Watcha got there?”

“Nothi-”

“Momma, it’s red smoke.” Sara narrows her eyes.

“Both of you, in. Now.”

“I don’t-” Sam is cut off by the barrel of the shotgun being shoved in his gut.

“Momma said in.” 

“Ok, sure I-”

“Tana. You know what I said about shoving with the shotgun.” The young girl’s face sports a pout.

“Don’t do it.”

“Unless…” At this the grin returns to the young girl’s face.

“Unless you’re ready to shoot if they grab the barrel.” Oh boy. This is gonna be fun. Crowley swirls around, satisfaction permeating every bit of him. 

“You. Jack. Pick up the black hex bag or you’re staying outside.”

“You know it won’t-”

“Pick up the bag Jack.” Says Sam quietly. Jack sighs and the bag levitates into his pocket. The two young hunters look on with wide eyes. Jack smiles at them and their faces immediately go hard as they walk backward down the stairs. 

_“Ok what the Hell is going on here? I didn’t expect a welcome wagon, but a bit of recognition at least. C’mon!”_

_“You’re supposed to be dead Squirrel, of course they’re suspicious.”_ He has a point Dean.

_“Shut up… what even is your name?”_

_“Chew Toy.”_

_“Wasn’t asking you dickwad.”_ Well, Bobby calls me Bec. _“Great. What the Hell is going on Bec?”_

_“Oh, circumventing me again. It’s almost like old times.”_

_“Shut UP Crowley.”_ Pain shoots through me as Crowley rips into Dean. 

_“I AM in Control here! I will be respected! I tolerated you for a bit because I’m nostalgic, but I’m done. I will have respect or-”_

_“Or what? Bite me.”_ Oh...Oh Dean. Phrasing. _“What?”_

 _“Gladly.”_ Dean’s soul screams as a bit is ripped off. It vanishes into the red instantly, washed away by the currents. 

_“Ow! You Motherfucker what did you do?”_

_“Well, by the taste, I believe I just took your love of bacon.”_

_“Bacon? I fucking hate bacon. It’s so greasy...no wait. I…”_ Oh poor Dean. That sucks. _“But… I. I… Bacon cheeseburgers...ugh. No. But...”_ It takes some getting used to Dean. “ _Getting used to! I don’t want to get used to it!”_

_“Would you rather I take Sam? Or your outdated car?”_

_“Don’t you dare touch either of them!”_

We’ve reached the center table at this point, the one with the map. It has holographic displays of various cities and a few floating X’s in seemingly random places. Sara looks at the two children and nods. 

“Go get Uncle Stan, tell him to bring the...newest arrival.” The taser is handed over and the two run away into the back and Sara cocks the taser gun at Sam. “Sit. Put the box down.”

“I-”

“I believe you. You’re Sam winchester. That’s Jack, the nephilim. Why do you have the King of Hell in a puzzle box? What’s he done?” 

“He’s been destroying souls!” Sara blinks.

“Yes. He has. For over 400 years. Why take an interest now?” Sam looks at her with disbelief.

“Wait. You Know? And you work with him?”

“They work with him?”

“Yes Jack.” Says Sam in a hard tone.

“That obvious huh?” Says Sara, leaning back in the chair a bit, completely relaxed in a situation most people would have fainted in. Jack could kill them all in an instant..

“Well, you-”

“Just confirmed it. Yeah, not that concerned.” Jack snarls and his eyes start to glow.

“You’re working with Crowley, you should be-”

“Ed.” Ed’s eye flashes and goes dark before flaring into dark red, taking a blood tithe directly from his veins for whatever magic he is about to do. 

“Pagondruxgal undruxgal galdonungon.” Jack gasps and falls to his knees, pressure building as the words repeat. 

“What are you doing to him!” Sara points the gun at Sam and he freezes, mid step toward Jack. Sara sighs and takes a pipe from her pocket. Crowley also sighs as he sees this.

 _“I told her to stop keeping that in there._ ” It really should be in a leather holder or bag. At least it has a detachable stem. “ _It would be broken otherwise._ ” True. As if hearing Crowley and my thoughts Sara rolls her eyes as she puts the pipe in her mouth. All three of us wholy ignoring the impossibility happening next to us. 

“I know Crowe. Shut up.” Sam breaks his frantic gaze from Jack as he kneels besides him and shakes his head slightly in surprise and looks at her once again in disbelief.

“Crowe. As in...Crowley?”

“I’ve known him since I was three Sam. Ed, we’re good, I think he gets the point.” The chanting stops and the pressure in the room lightens. Jack gasps. Sam kneels down next to him as Sara relaxes the taser again. 

“Jack. Jack, are you ok?”

“I’m...I’m fine. I...couldn’t move. It was like… father.” Sam looks up from holding the nephilim and glares at Sara who is lighting her pipe after packing it.

“What did you do?”

“Ask Ed, not me. I don’t mess with that stuff.” Sam turns his ire upon the warlock.

“Hey, it’s just a temporary binding and weakening spell.”

“That can hold a nephilim? That’s not just a binding spell. That’s not just anything. Where did you find it?”

“Didn’t. I made it.”

“You...what?” Crowley’s pride is matched only by Sam’s confusion and surprise.

_“That’s my little apprentice.”_

_“Your what?”_

_“Shh Squirrel. I’m watching years of hard work unfold.”_

Sam opens his mouth and furrows his brows in dubiety, a feeling that appeared frequently in this life dealing with the supernatural. Sometimes too much, sometimes not enough.

“How...How did you-” The sound of wheels interrupts the conversation as a gurney is pushed in. Sam helps Jack stand and moves him to a chair while both look at the sheet covering what can only be a body.

“Thanks Stan.” Stan is an older man with black hair and a bionic eye and hand. He stops the gurney next to the table, then nods and turns to leave. “I’ll bring you some sandwiches later!” Stan raises a hand as if the food doesn’t matter, but is appreciated and walks back down into the bowels of the base, not even questioning the two new arrivals. Sara sighs and shakes her head but turns to the gurney. “Crowe, what the Hell.” She looks at the puzzle box. “I really should leave you in there for a bit, the contract says I have a bit of time.” Crowley swirls around happily. 

_“My little girl has grown up into a proper psychopath. How lovely.”_ I chuckle. The contract did indeed have a clause about time, but was lenient for one very good reason. Sara looks at the two kids that stand silently in the door and the middle aged man who still has the water gun pointed at the ‘visitors’ and she deflates. 

“Fine.” She walks over to the gurney and throws the sheet off. It tumbles to the ground and reveals the ‘newest arrival’. On the gurney lies Crowley’s body. The shirt and peacoat gone, the suit jacket laid to the side. The chest has bright red words burned into the flesh, some leaking red, many just blisters.

‘New job. Rescue mission. Target. Crowley.’ 

Sara puffs on the pipe and pauses, looking at the body and shaking her head. She looks at Sam and Jack. Jack is still recovering, his power having been depleted a more than a bit, maybe even stolen or blocked. He sits shaking in the chair, his eyes flickering gold as he tries to control his temper. 

“Ted, get the nephilim a blanket. Sam… I’m gonna need that box.” As the little boy runs off into the bunker Sam stares at Sara.

“What? No. I’m not letting you free Crowley.” Sara frowns and the exhales smoke in a large puff from her mouth, chewing on the stem. “Look, you said yourself you have some time. How much?”

“Not enough. We’ve put off Bill’s initiation for a long time already, too long.” Bill nods and licks his lips. Sam looks nervously at Sara and then Bill.

“The… multi-generational contract?” Sara puffs on the pipe and raises a brow.

“So you know about that. Good, then you know why we need him back.” Sam looks at Bill.

“What’s...what happened?” Bill grunts at Sam and looks at Sara, as if reluctant to open his mouth.

“Vampire attack. Sire died before we could get his blood.” Sam cringes and looks at Bill.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, that don’t help. He’s our best sharp shooter and we need him to train the next generation. Can’t do that if he eats them.” George grunts. 

“Why won’t he speak?”

“Jack.” Says Sam hushedly.

“No. It’s a valid question.” Sara holds the pipe in her teeth and rolls up her sleeve. Bill growls. “Ed?”

“I’m ready.”

“Just in case Bill.” He nods. Sara finishes rolling up her sleeve to reveal a rather large leaking bandage which Bill swallows upon seeing. Sam and Jack both look wide eyed at it. Crowley and I understand.

“ _What the Hell…”_

_“No Dean. That’s what will happen if I don’t get out of here. That’s what will happen to those lovely two redheaded darlings if I don’t get out there and do my job.”_

“Smile for the camera honey.” Bill does, the telltale vampire teeth showing. Sara rolls down her sleeve as Bill closes his mouth and looks away. “Teeth won’t go away now, not unless he gets a full meal, and he won’t do that. He’s been locked in his room except to eat and to hunt.”

“That does not exactly explain why he won’t talk.”

“Talking requires air, brings scents over the tongue and into the nose. If he doesn’t breathe, doesn’t talk much, he doesn’t smell us. He doesn’t smell food. So he doesn’t talk.” Jack shivers but looks away from Sara to Bill.

“I can help.” Sara chews the stem of the pipe for a second, annoyed. 

“Talk to me angel boy, he won’t respond.” 

“I can make him human again.” Sara chuckles and holds her pipe, puffs and looks at Bill.

“You wanna be human again Bill?” Bill grunts and shakes his head. “Didn’t think so. Y’see, with that vampire sight, he gets a near extra 400 yards of dependable accuracy. He gets a steadier hand, better sense of where the enemy is. He’s taken down more fleeing monsters than any human ever could, so no. He just wants to not have the hunger, not have to make some human his juicebox. Can you do that?” Jack pauses.

“I… Do not know. Perhaps.”

“No good enough. See we Know Crowley can. He can also give us weapons, like The Colt, or a demon to help out should we need one.”

“What? They… just help?” Sara laughs at Sam’s question.

“You kidding? The little geek he sends us rips through whatever we point him at like it’s a damn hack and slash VR game. Fuckin loves it, comin to us is like a vacation even with the risks. Last one got taken out by a vampire priest who bought an angel blade online. Damn things are everywhere.” Sara inhales and exhales, a large puff of smoke circling to the ceiling. This is the moment Ted runs back in with a rather large blanket nearly covering him. It’s pink and quilted with various letters in enochian on it. The kid throws it at Jack, covering him completely. 

“Oops.” Ted pulls back the blanket from Jack to reveal his head and then quickly runs away. 

“Go find your sister and practice your alphabet!” Sara calls after the fleeing feet. 

“Aren’t they a bit old for that?” Asks Jack wrapping the blanket around himself.

“The Canaanite alphabet. So, are you gonna give me that box, or am I gonna have to take the blanket away?”

“You realize that Crowley is Literally destroying souls, right?” Says Sam. 

“Yeah, he showed me when I was 18. Ate the vampire I stupidly went after alone, saved my ass. Took me out for ice cream after, in Venice.”

_“What… you took her out for… fucking ice cream?”_

_“Dean, I took you out for hookers. I can take my 18 year old niece out for ice cream and a bit of torture. Besides, look what it got me.”_

_“A crazy nut who smokes a pipe?”_

_“Loyalty.”_ Pain flashes through all of us again. _“And don’t talk about my niece that way.”_

_“Wait...Ice cream and torture?”_

_“Well, I didn’t eat the vampire right away.”_

_“Gross.”_

_“We each prep our meals in our own ways, Squirrel.”_

_“Gross!”_

Sam has a similar reaction.

“Crowley….took you out for ice cream?”

“And a light bit of torture. On the vampire, not me Sam. Jeez, get your mind out of the gutter. So, yes, I know he’s been killing human souls. One hundred a year, max. He promised that until he can’t bear it, that’s how many he would take. And he has yet to break a promise to our family.”

“Until...he can’t bear it?”

“Ask him. He said he’d come to renegotiate the promise when that happened.”

I sigh and am immediately shot with a jolt of pain.

 _“Now Chew Toy, are you going to bark without my permission?_ ” I sigh. Crowley, I think what I think, can’t really help that. Just keep shocking me if my mind wanders that way.

 _“Wait. Crowley-_ ”

I am immediately shocked again. I sigh as the pain leaves. Why not just throw me in another stomach?

 _“Because they aren’t here in this smoke, you know that, unless you are just thinking for the benefit of our newest tenant… Besides, I wanted company in case I spent a hundred or so years here.”_ Fine. Just, at least until you decide whether or not you’re gonna let him leave, keep us separatish or occupied. 

_“Figured that out did you?”_

_“Wait, what?!”_ Dean, it’s fucking obvious. 

During this silent conversation the tension in the room outside the box rises. Sara puffs on the pipe and looks at Sam. Jack shivers under the quilt, Ed stands nearby. Bill’s eyes are latched on Sam, on his throat.

“So. One last time. Is this going to get ugly?” The water gun clicks at Sara’s statement and Sam and Jack look at Bill, who opens his mouth and breathes in, eyes flashing.

_“Oh Hell no.”_

_“Calm down Dean, your brother is usually reasonable. Ok that’s a lie, but he’s smart... Ok you’re brother is going to die and get at least seven children killed.”_

_“What?”_

_“Just wait.”_

Sara sighs. 

“You don’t let him out and at least seven other children, other than the two in here, will die.”

“What? Are you threatening-” Sara plucks the pipe from her mouth and points it at Jack.

“Shut the fuck up and put your dick away, I’m not threatening kids. Jesus. No. Judy is on maternity leave, at home, with her other adopted daughter. Bill’s wife. Bill’s wife who was attacked by an dybbuk and near driven insane. His wife who doesn’t tear out her hair or eyes and endanger her children, because of this contract. My mother, Donna, was bit by a werewolf 26 years ago. She’s retired in Florida. She is very excited to go to her next door neighbor’s birthday party next week. Her six year old neighbor.” Sara looks at Jack. “Are you willing to give up eternity to... let me rephrase, I am not willing to Let you give up your life to stay here and heal us. You can do more good elsewhere, healing plagues and shit. I also know you’re volatile, and I don’t want you around my kids.” Jack and Sam look at Sara.

“And you’re willing to sacrifice one hundred people you don’t know, a year, so that this can happen?” Sara puffs on the pipe with the most cynical look I have ever seen. 

“Hey, they were stupid enough to make a deal with the King of Hell. Darwin Award material right there.”

 _“I mean, she ain’t wrong.”_ Thanks Dean. _“Well, you ain’t dead.”_ Yet. 

Sara takes one more pull from the pipe and exhales before setting it down on the table and drawing a familiar pistol from her coat. The songshot.

“I’m bein nice, cuz you saved the world a bunch, but you’re not here anymore. You Should not fucking be here. You are dead, and Jack left. This is our home, this is the way We do things, and You’re fuckin with that by keeping Crowe in there. So.” She checks the barrels and closes it before looking up at the two people at ‘her’ table. “Last chance before this gets ugly. And even now, I’m still bein nice, cuz we haven’t gotten our painful shit out.” Sam looks at Sara.

“He has my brother.”

“And if you attacked him, that’s your own damn fault. Not my problem. That’s between you, and him. Now, open the goddamn box. And you.” The gun points at Jack whose eyes have started flaring with more consistency. “Control your goddamn temper or I’ll control it for you. I am tired, I was taking a fucking bath when the perimeter alarm went off. I’d like to get back to that, preferably with my vodka tonic and book and Not waste it washing blood off me. So. Open. The. Goddamn. Box.” Sam takes a breath and nods to Jack who hands the box to him. 

“Sam.”

“I know. We’ll figure out another way.” Sam starts pressing the buttons as the red smoke whirls inside in taunting anticipation.

_“Fuck you Crowley.”_

_“Promise?”_

It’s then that the box opens and Crowley bursts out, swirling around the ceiling a moment before diving into the mutilated body on the gurney. Sara holsters her gun and nods to Ed and Bill as she picks up her pipe. 

“Ed, go get the nephilim some tea or something to counteract that spell. Bill, get ready to pucker up and go see your wife.” Bill nods, a small hint of a smile on his face as Crowley sits up.

“Hello boys.” He snaps and both Jack and Sam flinch, though nobody else does. Crowley’s coat and shirt appear on him from nowhere, clean and crisp. He stands and begins to button the shirt as the wounds on his chest heal, purposefully having left the shirt open to make them wait, show them him healing himself like it is nothing. “Give me a moment, gents. Pardon my appearance but I was just in a fight.” Jack snarls and Crowley rolls his eyes. “You figure out a way to kill me, really kill me, and that man who just left to pack? He won’t ever get to see his wife, his kid, or his unborn child, and that is the Least of the things you will muck up. So get some eye drops and blink a few times pretty boy.” Crowley nods to Sara.

“Hello to you too Crowe.”

“I’d tell you job well done, but-”

“But I don’t give a damn. Just help Bill out and come visit me before you fuck off to where ever. I’ll be in my bath. I assume you can handle these two?” Crowley looks at the two men across from him.

“I’d prefer if a voice of reason were here with me.” Sara rolls her but shakes her head in annoyance and sighs heavily.

“Will you reheat my fucking water?”

“So you boil darling.” Says Crowley with a smile.

“Fine, lemme get the fucking booze, I have a feeling we’ll need it. What’s your poison boys?”

“Uhm, beer.” Says Sam a bit overwhelmed.

“Whiskey, got it. And you angel boy?”

“It is very difficult to-”

“Double proof moonshine, got it. You’re on your own Crowe, I ain’t got Craig or grapefruit or any fancy shit.”

“I’m rather full anyway.” Sam’s mouth twitches at the comment. “Oh, right. One more moment before we start this lovely discussion.” Goddammit Crowley you’re just taunting them. “No, this is business Chew Toy, give me a moment.” Crowley takes out his phone and speed dials Ranni. “Ranni. I’m texting you coordinates. Send the architectural team to take photos. They’ll know. I want two set up in my above ground office; one on the roof, and one in a basement. Inlaid. Roof by tomorrow, ground floor by mid week, and one in the above ground courts by the next Friday. Gold for the roof, iron for the rest. It’ll melt too easily. Any resources you need to figure out the physical components of the procedure. Yes. ...I’m fine, but thank you for your concern. Try to butter me up with saccharin talk like that again and I’ll assume you’re getting sweet and feed you to Growley. Subtle my dear, learn it or- yes. Learn it then. ...Of course I’m still showing up to the draft, don’t be daft. Double the pot, I’m feeling lucky. Two thousand souls.” Crowley hangs up in time for Sara to come back with a fresh bottle of whiskey, a rather large milk jug that is not full of milk, and glasses. Sam’s face is stoney, and Jack's is blank as he sits beneath the blanket.

“What, you showed me a new toy and you expect me not to use it? Speaking of.” Crowley looks through the phone and uploads a sound file to his personal cloud.

_“On the roof? Why Crowley?”_

“I’d like to sunbathe, is that a crime?”

_“With your body, yeah it kinda is.”_

Crowley sighs and looks at Sam and Jack.

“Sorry, private conversation, unruly tenants. 

“Let my brother go.” Crowley looks up at Sam as Ed walks in holding a small vial. 

“Hey Jack, this-”

“Here Ed. Not yet, I think the little nephilim could use some quiet time.” Ed shrugs and tosses the vial to Crowley. 

“Don’t be too big a dick Crowley.”

“Ed, you must really love me to give me such setups. I mean, there are so many innuendos there I’m having a hard time.” 

“I’m going to check on the twins Sara.” Says Ed as with a roll of his eyes. As he leaves Sara pours clear liquid Crowley can Smell from 3 feet away in a small glass and slides it to Jack. Sam is about to open his mouth again when Bill walks in with a set of keys.

“Car packed Bill?” Bill nods at Sara and looks to Crowley. “You sign?” Bill nods again. “Good, then pucker up and you’re off to see the missus.” Bill nods and walks up to Crowley.

 _“Rip out his throat Bill_!”

“Rude Dean. I doubt my blood would be appetizing to my nephew anyway. Bill?” Bill sniffs the air and makes a face. “See? Now, anyone with delicate sensibilities may wish to look elsewhere for...say thirteen seconds.” Sara raises a brow as she slides a whiskey across the table to Sam and begins to pour her own. 

“Crowe, I haven’t had ‘delicate’ anything for a long time.” 

Crowley pauses from leaning toward Bill at this and looks at her.

“Really? I thought I taught you to use a knife better. Delicate but firm. Do we need another lesson?” Sara sips the whiskey and toasts Crowley. Dean exudes disgust beside me.

“Bring your favorite scalpel and it’s a date.” Crowley nods and leans toward Bill again.

“Aren’t you married?” The question hangs in the air from Jack’s lips for a moment and then Crowley pauses. The slightest smile appears on his face as he stands up straight again. Bill grumbles. Sara smiles. 

This was going to be interesting.

“ _What? Why? Crowley? What did you do-”_ Pain shoots through every atom as Crowley once again shuts everyone up, and waits. Sara picks up her pipe and puffs on it again. She takes in one long pull and sighs the smoke out. 

“I Was. Until five years ago.” Says Sara. 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” It was assumed that if you were a hunter and you lost someone, they died fighting the good fight. Sam, is so wrong.

“Don’t be. He didn’t die in the field and he was a dick. He deserved that death.” She takes a sip of her own whiskey and rolls it around on her tongue, tasting it mingling with the remnants of the smoke.

“I… uh...excuse me?” Sara sighs and sets down the whiskey at Sam’s confusion.

“He was cheating us, so Crowley ate him.”

 _“HE WHAT?”_ Not that hard of a concept Dean. _“But, why would she let him?!”_ Sam and Jack are having similar reactions.

“You… had Crowley Eat your husband because he was cheating on you?”

“What? No. Jesus Jack I’m not that petty. But when our hunts go wrong because he tells the monsters we are coming for a payoff…”

“Oh… oh.”

“He Was also cheating on her. I gave him the full spa treatment in Hell.”

“ _Do I wanna know what that means?”_ There are a couple of ‘spa treatments.’ I woke up to one on the first of those three days when Crowley showed me his true form for the first time. What he could do with those double bladed fingernails... For hours. And it just got worse from there. So much worse. Crowley takes a half second to enjoy the horror rolling off Dean and then continues. 

“I would have killed him for either but-” Crowley pauses at the looks. “What? She’s my niece, if any one cheats her it’s go-” There is a grunt as Bill’s patience reaches its limit and he silences Crowley with the promised kiss.

Both Sam and Jack freeze at the boldness but Sara just laughs.

“Get him Bill!” 

_“Gross. I can feel it!”_ Oh Dean, you poor sheltered man. At the first sign of disgust Crowley immediately leans into the kiss. _“Oh gross gross gross I can feel tongue.”_ Bill grunts but doesn’t break the kiss. Dean squirms but soon enough it ends. As it does we both feel the slight weight of the echoed soul get added to Crowley’s collection. Bill straightens and sighs, then sits and lays his head down on the table, shivering. Sara pours him a glass of moonshine and sets it beside him for when he recovers from the change. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Jack asks concerned. 

“His dna is being re-written, rather painful.” Jack nods at Crowley’s comment, familiar with the feeling..

“I understand.” The comment hangs for a moment before Crowley claps his hands together.

“If that is all gentlemen?” Sam immediately stands.

“You have my brother Crowley.”

“And?” Sam swallows at Crowley’s lack of concern.

“And give him back.”

“ _Yeah ‘Crowe’. Fight’s over. You won, for now, so let me out.”_

“Why should I? You attacked me, without provocation on my part. I’d consider this just payment.”

“Do you boys really need me here for this?” The group looks at Sara who is sipping her whiskey and puffing on the pipe. “When Bill is ready I’d like to help him to his car, see you out of my damn house, and then get back in my bath.”

“Sara, darling. Yes.” She sighs and puffs on the pipe harder. Crowley returns his gaze to Sam. “Now. What would you give me for him?”

“You’re head not-”

“Calm wing boy. You’re still in my house. Civil discussions or take it outside.” Says Sara pointing the pipe at him again. 

“That’s a good idea.” All three look at Crowley. “You want to fight. Let's fight. Set some betting terms, a location, and have a bit of fisticuffs between little golden eyes and myself.”

“I agree.” Sam immediately tries to intervene at Jack’s comment.

“Jack, we don’t know what-”

“Great. You win, you get Dean’s soul here, and I will make up an official contract that says I will only take 100 souls a year, or it’s equal in relation to population growth.”

“I’d take that boys, get what we have in writing.” Sara puffs and pats Bill on the back, who is still sitting with his head on the table surrounded in the darkness of his arms.

“Sure, but what do you get if you win Crowley?” 

“I win, I get all members of your club free will to sign a contract that says you Won't interfere with my plans.”

“No.” Crowley rolls his eyes at Sam.

“Or I could keep Dean’s soul. I think the contract is a better deal than certain death by digestion boys.”

“No.” Says Sam. Jack is silent.

“This doesn’t work if you don’t play ball boys. I need som-”

“You can have me.” There is silence as Crowley turns slowly to look at Jack.

 _“Jack, don’t-”_ Pain jolts through everything as Crowley shuts Dean up and looks at the nephilim, wondering what that amount of power would get him, and if he wanted that over a contract from the hardy boys. Sam however…

“Jack. No. If you lose Crowley will get-”

“I won’t lose.”

“He can’t die Jack!”

“But I can send him to the Empty.”

“You really can’t angel boy. Especially not with your ‘bro’ as a passenger. Unless you don’t care if he hitches a ride?” Jack’s eyes flare.

“I will win.” Oh boy. Sam swallows and intervenes.

“Ok, but define win first.” Crowley smiles at Sam.

“Good little lawyer, sure you don’t want a job?”

“Shove it Crowley.” Sam pauses and thinks, his mind reaching back a very long way to his college years. “I’d like to define win as ‘getting pushed out of the circle.’”

“No. I’ve always hated sumo.” Sam swallows. “How about one of us dying, even for a second?”

“Fine.”

“Jack, no. Jack. you can’t do this, if you lose-”

“Sorry Crowe, but I gotta agree with Sam here, that’s a bit too much power even if you are my uncle.” Crowley looks at Sara.

“And if I were to use it to manifest you a pony?”

“Well then I’ll sign a check and get a stable. No Crowe, it’s a bit much.”

“It isn’t a bit much for sociopath golden boy over here?” Sara looks at Jack and nods.

“Point. But he’s using it to heal plagues and shit you’d-”

“Use it to ‘heal plagues and shit.’ I rather like having humans around. I kind of need them in fact.” Sam stares at Crowely. “Really Sam, it’s in my best interest to keep you monkeys alive. No humans, no souls.”

 _“You sick fuck.”_ Crowley and I ignore Dean. 

“So. Meet me in Purgatory in...I’ll give you a week to prepare.”

“Fine.”

“Jack!”

“Let the boy make his own choices Sam. Now, Bill. Time to go.” Crowley touches Bill who gasps and sits up. “Go see your wife Bill, tell her the dybbuk was delicious.” Bill swallows and nods. 

“Thanks Crowe. I’ll, I’ll tell her.”

“Good man. Don’t go eating anyone I wouldn’t.”

“There isn’t anyone you wouldn’t eat Crowley.” Crowley inclines his head and gives that slight false frown of agreement to Bill as he stands and leaves. Crowley watches him before looking to Sara.

“Heat up that bath for you?”

“Crowley, what is going on? You’re doing room service now?” Crowley slowly looks to Sam. 

“Suck my red dick Sam, I don’t need your approval.”

“Woah! Red dick? What kinda messed up STI you got Crowe?” Crowley smiles slightly at Sara.

“Oh that’s right, you missed the fabulous fight earlier. Moose and Squirrel here summoned up a lovely bit of my home turf for me to play on. So they got to see me. My pretty face, my arms, all four, my athletic-“

“And your happy bits flapping in the breeze? Lovely.”

“Well, it certainly felt nice. Everything is all hot and dry down there. Fresh air, well, I always did like my kilt.” 

“I am particularly thankful you’re not wearing one old man.” Crowley turns to Sara and smiles.

“Is that what we’re doing now? Flirting?”

“No. We’re sitting and drinking while my bath gets cold.” 

Crowley snaps and some ingredients appear on the table. Grapefruit, honey, gin, tonic. Sam and Jack stare. 

“Well, if that’s what we’re doing.”

“I ain’t making your fucking drink Crowe. It’s complicated.”

“Why don’t you just...snap it?” Crowley looks at Sam and shakes his head. 

“Sammy. All that sulfur residue you find where demons have been, well, it leaves an aftertaste. Why, you volunteering to make it for me?”

“Sure. Will you free my brother?” Says Sam in annoyance. Crowley pauses, then nods.

“‘Sure’. Why not.” The room is silent as everyone turns to look at Crowley. 

“ _What_.” I just chuckle at the confusion. I have a feeling I know what is going on. I had been with him too long to not start seeing ideas and loopholes for him everywhere. Even if they weren’t the ideas he ended up using… he wouldn’t want his enemies to know the possibilities I’d thought of. That meant, he needed Dean out or I might spill something. 

“Partially correct Chew Toy. After all, I have what I want. Besides Sam still has to actually make the drink correctly. And you know what, let’s try the newest one in the line up.” There is a snap and the ingredients vanish and are replaced with vodka, holy water, a syringe, port, and a small vial of red that isn’t nearly enough for the drink. A piece of paper is rolled inside a very tall glass that sits to the side. “Try that one. It’s called The Crowley, for apt reasons.” Sam ignores the spread before him and stares in disbelief. 

“You’re just going to give him back? No. That’s not the Crowley I know, even the one who saved the world.”

“Saved the world. Exactly my point. You’re my insurance policy. If there ever is an apocalypse I can’t handle, I’ll just throw you two at it. That usually seems to do the trick.”

“I bet your girlfriend ain’t happy about that.” Everyone looks at Sara. “What?”

“Dragoness?”

“No, Sammy, she is not my girlfriend.”

“You have a girlfriend Crowley?” Asks Jack. 

“Yeah, seriously. You never had any serious relationships while we were alive.”

“That you knew of Sam. And I don’t have a girlfriend. I have an affair with benefits.”

“Don’t you need to have a main relationship to have an affair?” Everyone blinks at Jack’s statement. 

“Good point angel boy. I have a fuck buddy with benefits. She has agreed that in dire circumstances only, as in apocalypses that are changing how things should turn out, you boys will be let out to play. You changed the rules boys, books don’t end when people die anymore.”

“Wait...are you… Are you still in a relationship with Billie?”

“Yes. I am currently boning death. Now. Samual. Get to work while I go heat up my niece’s bath and see if she boils.”

“Oh no. I gave up on that bath as soon as this conversation started telling me shit I didn’t know. I’ve read that book twice, this stuff, I haven’t heard.” Crowley smiles and nods at his niece. 

“Good girl, I suppose I’ll settle in myself.” Crowley pulls out the chair beside Sam and sits looking at him expectantly. “Well? Do we have a deal?”

“There’s gotta be a catch.”

“Of course there is, I’m a demon. So far, it seems fairly straight forward. I’ll even give Squirrel a body.”

“Why not just get his old one?” Asks Sara as she puffs on the pipe. 

“Because he ate it.” Sara glances from Crowley to Sam and back. 

“It was crunchy and tasted like flannel.”

“And what does flannel taste like?” Asks Sara between sips and puffs. 

“Regret mostly.” 

“How can you be so calm!?!” Jack stands with yellow angry eyes glaring at the matriarch and the demon. 

_“Woah. Jack. We got a good thing goin. Don’t mess it up.”_

“Jack. Sit down. We, we can get Dean back.”

“He could have killed Dean already!”

“I haven’t. I don’t make deals I can’t keep.”

“You ate my sister!”

“You what?” Asks Sara with raised brows.

“Sara. I averted a cliche apocalypse. It doesn’t have a name, that is how cliche it is. A demon inhabiting a human fucking an angel inhabiting a human.”

 _“Oh! A new thing! I call naming dibs! Uh uh. Demel? Like demon angel? Angon? Uh...”_ Shut up Dean _._

“Shut up Dean.”

“Wait...Dean… is talking to you Crowley? Still?”

“He is trying to name the spawn I talked of.”

“My sister.” Crowley ignores Jack as if the glowing gold eyes didn't look like they wanted to immolate him. Jack could do so in an instant. And Crowley could explode Dean into tiny pieces just as fast.

“Well, he’s trying to name it an angon. Or a demel.”

“Uhm.” 

“A camphilim? A nephbion?” Everyone stares at Sara. “What? Naming stuff is fun.”

“No. It’s called a...cliche. So I killed it. Now Samuel. Have you read the ingredients and instructions yet? You realize I have complete control over what every soul I’ve imprisoned experiences? So, it’s in your best interest to get this right, for Dean’s sanity. Because I do have a few things to take care of this week, in Hell.” Sam tenses and nods, taking the paper from the glass and unrolling it. “Good Moose. Now. Sara. What are you smoking?”

“Cherry.” Crowley holds out his hand and Sara rolls her eyes but passes the pipe across the table to Crowley. 

“Smoking is bad for you.”

“So is being in the same room as a demon and a nephilim, yet here we are angel wings.” Says Sara as Crowley sucks on the pipe. The tobacco makes the smoke thicker and white. The cherry flavor is faint but present. Without the threat of cancer it’s quite pleasant. 

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this.” Says Sam as he’s reading the instructions and ingredients. 

“Smoking a pipe?”

“Letting Dean go. Apocalypse averting aside, you have these guys, who seem more than capable.”

“Nice to be told that by a Winchester.”

“Well, you held me for a moment.” Says Jack. 

“Ed did that, but I’ll hold you for a moment longer if you want.” Both Crowley and Sam look up at this quickly while Sara winks at Jack who looks a bit confused by the sudden turn. 

“No.”

“My turn to agree with the enemy Sara. It’s-”

“No one controls who puts their dick in me, but me. Ever. So you all can shut your faces. He’s cute, and I think a one night stand would do him some good. He’s about to explode.” Jack blinks. 

“I-“

“AnyWay.” Says Sam trying to regain control of the conversation. “Crowley. Why? You know we are going to come after you if you take Jack or Dean. You’ve been through that with Bobby. ”

“Darlings. Samual. Jack. Do you know why I rushed to your side to help so frequently?”

_“Yeah I did kinda wonder about that…”_

“Because when I did there was literally nothing else vaguely interesting happening.”

“So, when you didn’t come…”

“There was something interesting. So, if I ever end our very interesting ménage a trois there will be an audience to watch the break up and the resulting fallout. I like an audience.”

“ _Ew_.”

“Uhm….Crowley. This drink…”

“I’ll provide the final ingredient. I believe you can provide the rest.”

“Crowley, this says-“

“If Chew Toy, who was not a hunter or a fighter, but just a mildly masochistic occasionally suicidal excuse for a human, can bloody her hand by cutting herself on a Hellhound’s stomach to make me a drink, you can withstand a needle Moose.” Dude. I try not to share stuff about you. C’mon. Not cool.

Sam blinks. 

“She designed this drink? Is she…” Insane? Yeah. Almost every artist is a little bit insane. 

_“The Hell is wrong with you?”_ Lots of things. Mainly Crowley. 

“She says yes Samuel, she is insane. Now. Are you going to make the drink, or not?” 

“What’s the big deal about this drink?” Sam sighs and passes the paper to Sara. “Oh gross. How does this even taste good? Doesn’t it hurt?”

“She designed it specifically for me.”

“Could someone please tell me why this drink is problematic?” Says Jack, quite miffed. 

“Let me read you the ingredients angel wings. Vodka. Holy water. Fresh blood. Ruby Porto. Garnish with 1/118th of a soul.” 

“And this...Chew Toy designed it? Where is she? She must be a demon to design something like this. ” Asks Jack. 

“Currently? Floating a bit above Dean. And she’s human.”

“Wait. A human designed this? What kind of broken being would design a drink that uses souls?” Ow. Jeeze. I mean, he’s right, but ow.

“The kind who volunteered to have her own picked apart so specific parts could be used in the drink.”

“Why? That sounds more than mildly masochistic Crowley.” Says Sam as he mixes up the vodka and the holy water. 

“She thought it might keep me occupied for a century or two, away from torturing other souls. If I liked the drink enough, maybe I’d get drunk and spend an afternoon lazing about.” Nooot quite what I was thinking. “Besides, she just likes to Make things for me.” Crowley, fuck you. I like to make things, period. 

_“So wait, you made him this drink, because you wanted to make something? That’s sick.”_ Pot kettle black mister hunter. Like you didn’t jump at the chance to come down here and fight. You love hunting, it’s a part of you; well art is like that for me. I got the chance I took it. So shut the fuck up. 

Sam pauses mixing the small vial of blood with a shot of port and looks up. 

“Demons can’t get drunk, Crowley.”

“I can. Also that is too much port.” Sam blinks. 

“How do you know? How did you expect me to know? The only measurement on here is the soul part.”

“I suppose you’ll have to taste it.”

Sara hits the table and laughs. 

“Oh you sick fuck Crowley! Give me back my damn pipe. You ain’t drinkin that concoction and then putting my pipe in your mouth.” Crowley raises his brows in amusement but snaps the pipe into Sara’s mouth. She frowns and takes it out, wipes the stem on her shirt, points it at the King of Hell. “Now tell me about this true form of yours. I don’t wanna watch Mr scientist here fumble around drawing blood and mixing it with port and then sipping it.”

“He’s drunk demon blood darling, this is nothing new.” Sam glares at Crowley but readies the syringe. “Ah. Try golden eyes over there, add a bit of kick to the drink. Little Jackie wants his brother back as well. He should contribute something.”

 _“Leave him alone Crowley_.”

“I believe it’s their choice, Squirrel.”

Sam glares but Jack immediately looks at the syringe with glowing eyes and it fills with blood.

“Nicely done. Be sure to taste it Sam.”

_“You are one sick fuck.”_

_“_ Yes, I am. I’m glad we know each other so well. Now-“

“Why are you doing this?” Crowley pauses and looks at Jack. 

“You’re joking right? He’s joking.” Asks Crowley looking at Sara and Sam. 

“No. I understand the drink as a challenge he could fail to make, but why make him taste it, use my blood, make it an ordeal?” Sam’s face tightens as he injects the blood into the port mixture and holds it up. Crowley watches him and then looks back to Jack.

“Jackie, this is a torture session. Every time I play this game with the Winchester’s it’s a torture session. Almost every time we meet it’s a torture session for someone. Payback for all the times they betrayed me.”

_“Don’t I Know it.”_

“It’s how I show love.”

“It’s how you have fun Crowe.”

“That too. Well, that mainly. Drink up Sammy.” Sam sneers at Crowley but adds a bit more port and regards the glass again, steeling himself. Crowley turns away as if it is unimportant. “Now. My true form. Over 20 feet now. Red gray skin. Lovely long legs that would make any car stop if I needed a ride. No feet despite having three points to touch the ground with, they are just as nice as any high heels I’ve seen.”

“Fat.” Crowley frowns and points at Jack. 

“I have five stomachs, they need to go somewhere.”

“What are you, a mutant cow?” Crowley looks angrily at Sara and then pauses. 

“That’s apt.” He pauses and watches as Sam finally takes a sip, his eyes scrunched close and tensed, expecting a bad taste. His eyes open and he blinks.

Not bad, right?” I’m good at what I do, took a lot of practice and some really bad tasting stuff, but I got pretty good at mixing drinks. I remember I used to enjoy it, I think I’d like to do it again… I think. None of my drinks sound particularly appetizing now for some reason; Crowley’s does though. 

“Chew Toy wants to know what you think Sam.” Sam swallows and pauses.

“It’s...it’s not bad.”

“Not bad? Samual, you wound me. I let her name the drink after me, so it’s brilliant, and you haven’t even finished making it yet.”

 _“And you made this for Crowley?”_ Yeah. _“Can you do that for anyone?”_ I’m not a drink designer for people, making their perfect drink on command... but… I can try. Let’s see...bloody mary, with ba- I am coursed through with pain and shifted away from Dean. 

“Chew Toy, don’t go bringing up memories better left forgotten.”

Silence from the table cuts the air as conversation stops.

“Crow-”

“Shhh.” He holds up a finger. “You keep almost slipping Chew Toy.” I sigh mentally, tired suddenly. I have no idea what I can and can’t say, if a fucking Drink recipe that has...Oh. Ok. Bacon. “Exactly.”

“Crowley, what’s going on?” Asks Sam, finally unable to bear the half silence.

“A private discussion. Continue your science project Sammy. I want that ready soon.”

Just put me in another place for a bit Crowley. Crowley sighs but aquesces and goes over my thoughts now that they are away from Dean. 

“What is going on Crowley?!” 

“Quiet. What’s it called Chew Toy?” I… don't know. Figuring out that recipe kinda...wore me out for some reason. Maybe...The morning after a midnight hunt. “Too long Chew Toy.” Fine. Uhm. God this is hard for some reason. Uhm...Baby’s Breakfast Bane. “Good enough.”

“What’s good enough? Crowley?”

“It’s driving you insane, only being able to hear half the conversation, isn’t it?” Sam swallows.

“Crowley. I don’t understand this… this game! This lie!”

“What lie? Moose, you haven’t been sampling too much of my drink have you?”

“No! Crowley, this this nice nature, I-”

“Moose, all pitchforks and no play make Crowley a bored demon. I’m your average demonic proto god. I watch TV. I read books. Torture a few thousand souls. I make conversation and put on my pants one ...well I guess I do snap those on. Still, did you ever sit down and talk to me when the world wasn’t ending or you weren’t trying to kill me? No. You don’t know who I am, so don’t say I’m acting out of character. I have a life outside of you, as hard as that is for you to fathom, although much of it was preparing for your next attempt on my life.”

“Wait...what?”

Crowley huffs out a single laugh.

“Boys, you are the most annoying allies I have. We want the same thing, but you disapprove of everyone’s methods but your own. Even when I try to play nice.”

“Crowley, you’ve been-”

“So, you want to fight me over my methods, fine, but don’t be a hypocrite. You put a few thousand souls in a bomb, what did you think would happen to those? Sam, don’t make me bring out the heavy guns. What I would have done to you during that fight, nothing compared to what I can do here. Because I will use sticks, stones, and words to break every bone in your body and leave you twitching. And that’s nothing compared to what I can do with Dean’s damaged ego. Don’t. Test. Me.” Crowley snarls then leans back, head loose and feigning tiredness. He sits a moment then exhales, a white light coalescing in his hand, a small bit of soul. “So, finish my drink.” Sam swallows as Jack’s eyes flare gold in anger. Sara is ignoring the whole conversation, having gone through it 40 years ago and been satisfied with the result. She leans back and puffs on her pipe, mimicking Crowley’s actions almost exactly with the smoke. Perhaps on purpose, perhaps not. 

Sam takes a deep breath and takes the syringe, ready to inject the contents into the layered drink.

“So, you’re red and got four arms? What other freaky shit you got?” Everyone blinks and looks at Sara. “What? I don’t give a shit about this. I wanted to hear about Crowley’s demon form before all you got distracted and in a huff.” Sam laughs lightly in disbelief, shaking his head as he goes back to finishing the drink.

“Yes darling, I am red, a light red gray. I have a lovely second mouth right in my chest. Why don’t you come to-”

“Nah. Nope. Don’t wanna see it. Not until you get a kilt Crowe.”

“Your loss.”

“It’s done.” Everyone looks at Sam. The drink is almost finished, the red port sinks in the vodka and water, while the blood disseminates, whisping about the drink like the edges of smoke. It’s an eerie visual, but it’s not done yet. With a wave Crowley has the drink in his hand. Without looking he crushes the bit of soul in the other and drops it into the drink. Everyone shudders as the sparkling bits fall like stars through the liquid.

Once, he had required contracts to do that, now...Now it’s a skill he could use at will. Still only to damaged souls… but terrifying nonetheless. There were still some things he needed a contract for-

“Now now Chew Toy. Don’t go voiding your contract. As long as Dean doesn’t pry, everyone should be fine.” I sigh, I was back next to Dean and I hadn’t even noticed. 

_“Don’t pry? You still got secrets?”_

“Of course I have secrets. I-”

“But Bobby told us-”

“Bobby told you what I said he could tell you Sammy. He’s under contract. And before you ask, not with me, with Dragoness. That contract is the only reason I cannot, yet, destroy whole human souls. So thank him for that. Now, sláinte.” Crowley holds up the drink and sips. He pauses, and nods. He snaps and Dean appears next to him; whole, unmarred, clothed, and with a soul. Dean shakes his head startled, looking around and patting himself down.

“How… how did you?”

“I had all the ingredients. Well most. Sorry but you might be a few pounds lighter… might even be going a bit more bald than before Dean.” Dean freezes and holds up a finger. 

“I am not… I am not going bald.”

“Sure darling. Keep telling yourself that.”

“How do you feel Dean?” Asks Sam standing up and tentatively touching his brother’s shoulder. 

“I...I feel dirty.”

“Well you were in-“

“Crowley, I swear to god if you finish that sentence...”

“Don’t be so sensitive, Squirrel.”

“Sensi-. Sensitive? I just spent over 72 hours in your freakin gut smoke stuff. I’m allowed to be fuckin sensitive!”

“Very well.” Crowley holds up the drink and offers some to Dean. “Do you want-“ 

“No I don’t want some of your gross demon drink!” Oh Dean. Crowley shrugs. 

“Well. Don’t say I didn’t give you the chance.” 

“Uh, Dean. You-” it’s too late, Crowley toasts the group and downs it. Sam swallows and tenses as the shining glittering drink vanishes. 

Jack stands to try to do something and Sara draws her song shot pistol...Crowley sets the glass down with a clink and nods. 

“See you in a week, I’ll give angel wings his tonic then. Bye boys.”

“Crowe, don’t-” And with a snap they’re gone. “Oh thank god I thought you were gonna leave them here.” Sighs Sara.

“Darling, and let them poison your beautiful mind against me?”

“Crow, you poisoned my mind at 19, ain’t nothing changing that.” Crowley smiles.

“Good girl. Here’s your treat.” He snaps and she vanishes. Where? 

“In the bath, as promised. Now, let’s go prepare for a fight.”


	42. The Slow Walk Toward Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone finds out their toy is breaking.

The first thing Crowley wants to do is visit Dragoness in Purgatory, but there are some preparations needed first. He visits Ranni to have her transcribe an audio file. He visits his room to replace the souls he destroyed. He visits his house to make sure everything is being set up properly. Finally he visits Croney, the body maker. 

Soon enough he is ready. The walk to the portal is short, but long enough for Crowley to go over every atom of my being to make sure I didn’t leak any information to Dean. I had not. So he gives me a proverbial pat on the head, aka one last jolt of pain that’s a bit lighter than usual. The usual actual pat on the Hellhounds’ heads as we pass and head toward the gate is quicker than usual. The walls shine with anti demon runes, a new addition added by Crowley himself, just in case. The second guard Hellhound is given a pat and a warning as it sniffs the body and we pop into purgatory. 

Dragoness is sitting with Bobby and the young werewolf Lily in the clearing but they are otherwise alone. As Crowley enters Bobby turns and sighs at the sight of the king walking toward him.

“Balls.” 

“No Robert, you played your part well. However, even though I planned this, you still betrayed me, so.” There’s a snap and a body that very much looks like one Robert Singer appears on the ground, dead and waiting for a catalyst. Crowley snaps again and Robert Singer vanishes into a white orb and flies quickly to the body. There is a brief moment where time stands still before Bobby gasps and the body comes to life. Crowley nods at the result, this wasn’t always successful with a normal human. Rowena is a witch, I am contracted to be put in any body he wants, Bobby however is a human who has a deal with Dragoness, nothing more. Crowley stops holding Bobby by the jacket and trades it for a more painful grip on the arm. He drags the surprised hunter away and to the left. 

“Crowley, what the Hell-“

“Shhh.” Crowley spins Bobby around with a thought and walks a few steps away before speaking to the young werewolf cub. “Lily.” The young werewolf looks out timidly from behind Dragonness’s large tail. She sucks her thumb and looks up at the man she has come to know as ‘alpha’, when he’s around. “Darling, I promised to not hurt you.” There are a lot of left out ifs in that promise Crowley. He ignores me as Bobby angrily glares at him. 

“You leave that girl alone, you hear me? She ain’t a danger to anyone here. I-” Crowley snaps and Bobby is silent. 

“Oh I disagree. Now Lily. Would you bite uncle Bobby for me? Just a quick bite.” Dragoness purrs quietly as she joins me in watching the plan unfold. She knew about them all, the plans. I knew some but this one is fairly obvious. 

“You sonuva-” Crowley snaps and Bobby’s mouth shuts. The girl sucks her thumb and looks at uncle Bobby and Crowley. “Doesn’t he smell good?” A quick flick and an invisible force nicks Bobby’s arm, drawing blood. “I know you aren’t hungry, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He smells good just for you.”

The young girl’s eyes flash as she inhales the scent of blood. Human blood. The first actual blood here since Dean Winchester. She sucks on her thumb harder and nods. “Good girl. Don’t eat the heart, for now. Just nibble elsewhere and I might give you a treat later.”

Crowley pushes Bobby forward and he stumbles a moment watching the young girl walk forward. She stands in front of him, still sucking her thumb as he shakes his head. She hesitates at his obvious distress but she is still sniffing the air. Bobby turns to run but there’s a snap and he freezes. 

“See. He isn’t running, so it must be-” Crowley doesn’t finish before the young girl jumps and with a growl takes a large bite out of Bobby’s right arm. Bobby tenses, but cannot scream or move or even flinch. He can only stand and let the girl mutilate and gnaw on him. The young girl he had read stories to, the young girl with the yellow empire cut dress who wouldn’t normally hurt a fly.

Crowley stands back and watches satisfied. “Good girl.” I thought werewolves just ate hearts? “That’s their favorite part, doesn’t mean they don’t use the whole buffalo.” Crowley turns to the imposing queen of red death and fire, and nods. “Dragoness.” She rumbles happily at his slight deference to her. 

“King of Hell. How was your little fight?”

“You saw it. The only thing little about the fight were the opponents. Did you give them that sigil?”

“No. I believe they got it from a suumerian tablet. Quite an interesting one, is it not?”

“Very.” 

There is a slight tearing sound and a muffled cry for attention from the left, followed by chewing. Dragoness tuts the young girl as if she were eating an ice cream too quickly. 

“Slowly dear. Remember to chew.” Crowley doesn’t even look up at Dragoness’s comment. He just waits for her to return her gaze to him before continuing as if nothing had transpired at all. 

“Now. I’d like to make this upcoming fight, which I’m sure you know about, a bit more interesting. I know how much you appreciate that.” Dragoness nods, confirming everything he said before responding in her own booming voice. 

“I do. I assume this means you wish to ask for my assistance?”

“Permission, actually. For the first time I am going to ask permission to possess someone. You.” Silence. Then laughter shakes the clearing. Leaves fall in circling dances as the sound rumbles tree’s branches.

“King of Hell. I’d thought you’d never ask. Of course I shall lend you my form and my soul, but you must do the same for me. I shall accompany you out of Purgatory, and gain use of your form, this one you currently wear, for twice as long as you control mine. Do we have an accord?” 

There is a groan from the left and the background white noise of chewing and swallowing is broken for a moment. The muffled noises of pleading are consistent, and mean nothing to a young girl who barely understands death or cruelty, and the chewing starts once again. Crowley takes a breath and thinks.

“Can I not bring you another body? Would you really want to be in mine?

“I would in fact prefer another, but then we would not have an even trade of trust. So, do we have a deal?” 

“Darling Dragoness, it isn’t about trust in this case. I don’t like anyone else controlling this body for a long time, it’s… an eccentricity of mine.” You let me. “You’re mine Chew Toy. I can control you like I would my pinky finger, it’s a bit different.” Ok, that's a bit disturbing, I mean… it should be, but I’m kinda… too tired to be disturbed right now. Which is kinda weird, souls don’t really get tired, not from just existing.

I’m ignored as usual. 

“Then we must find something else to trade…Hmm. For however long you inhabit my body, I shall inhabit twice that of your house on earth, or the bunker where your little allies are. I shall freely talk to the survivors of the fight, if there are any, and...may do with them as I wish for a day.” Oh...Oh no. Crowley doesn’t even hesitate. If she kills them, well, their souls would still be here, she could only destroy souls with him after all.

“Excluding telling them about me and my plans.” Dragoness smiles.

“I am quite proud of you King of Hell, you would have made a good Dragon.”

“You would have made a better demon. Now?”

“Of course I shall not tell them anything that might endanger your, or our, machinations.”

“Then, we have a deal. Now. Is this ongoing? Or once the fight is over you collect this one time offer?”

“I shall collect then, but if you are asking if you may practice...” Dragoness doesn’t speak, she leans down and opens her jaws in front of Crowley, light burning and flickering like a warning in the back of her throat. Crowley looks at the furnace for a moment before nodding.

“Keep it warm for me Chew Toy.” He shoves me into his body and leaves me alone. Red smoke rushes into a red maw, spiraling down the long neck like it’s a tunnel. I take a step back and watch, pointedly not looking to the left where I will see pleading eyes that know I am impotent here. I can only imagine the conflict going on. This little girl who is under his protection is literally eating him alive. The pain must be immense, the emotional and mental torment are probably worse. It’s not like Bobby hadn’t experienced worse though, being tortured in Hell. I push the thoughts away, and focus on the vanishing smoke.

The jaw shuts and the huge mass of scaled muscles stands still. A moment. Two moments pass. Then Dragoness’s body thrashes where it stands. Her head whips back and forth, leaking smoke and fire as eyes flash from pupiless red to their more natural pigment. She increases in size and then shrinks only to grow again. The battle continues for a long moment and I back away, wary about being crushed and punished for being reckless with Crowley’s body. 

Finally the body stands still again, panting. I do not know who is in control. It straightens and raises its head and looks at its claws curiously. 

Crowley. 

“Well after the initial adjustment it feels...natural. Like my own true body. Everything is so…” The falsely one sided conversation stops for a moment. Smoke curls in ever larger clouds out of nostrils. “No. I am not- ….well. You. … Of course I noticed your ‘hints’! How- My own suggestions!” Fire streaks into the sky in white flame. Claws rake the ground as Crowley tries to decide on something.The body breathes in and he exhales calmly having reached a conclusion. “If it’s true, I suppose we’ll find out now mother.“ Fire reaches towards the heavens in a blast that singes tree tops and crackles and whooshes as it eats the air. The following roar is primal and shakes every leaf for miles. The leaves are disrupted further as they are blasted from their branches with the force of a maelstrom as Crowley takes off for the sky. 

Soon there is silence. Soon after the chewing starts again. Soon after I sit and cover the meat suit’s ears and start humming so I no longer have to hear it. Soon after I start to feel numb and finally can tell myself I no longer hear minute crunching sounds. Soon after I realize Crowley had called Dragoness... mother. 

  
  


…………………………….

  
  


By the time Crowley returns Lily is curled around Bobby’s leg asleep. Still in love and looking for protection from the man whose arm she had just devoured. She is small, and had not needed more than that and so fell asleep, sucking a bloody thumb, around her uncle’s frozen form. Bobby’s face is tear stained, his eyes closed and gritted in pain as his arm is slowly healing itself, his eyes yellow and full of hate, the change taking hold quickly in the eternal home of monsters. I am sitting on a nearby log trying to occupy my thoughts with satisfaction about my initial conclusions relating Crowley’s red color to Dragoness’s. There is a slight caveat, a breeze, then Crowley comes barreling home as familiar red smoke followed by flapping wings. He rams into the body and I am pushed down instantly and painfully as Crowley takes over. I twitch in shock and a bit of pain at the unusual show of force as he stretches and dusts off his suit as ‘mother’ lands. What did that mean? Crowley scowls at my silent question, he did not like the new information gifted him, or perhaps did not know what to do with it, which he would not like either. 

“Yes Dragoness, tell Chew Toy and Robert why I called you mother.” The work Crowley did on his suit is rendered pointless as dust fills the air with her landing. The thud shakes the ground as usual and Dragoness blows the dust away with one or two last flaps. She shakes her massive body and then settles into her favorite story telling position. She looks at the still deeply sleeping werewolf cub huddled around Robert and then at Crowley and at me. I shudder, unnerved by her ability to look at me despite my non existence in this plane. She blinks and smiles, regarding the group with glee. 

“Eons ago, barely a decade after the first demons, I made a law, a rule. That the first soul to change into a demon far sooner than natural laws allowed, would be mine. They would have a gift. A bit of dragon that their needs would shape as they formed. I had no idea if it would ever happen, or how it would manifest, but I am very pleased with the result.” Dragoness grins and looks at Crowley, smoke curling from her nostrils. The implications of what she said were immense. Crowley had mentioned he had turned into a demon faster than normal, but surely there were others whose lives had been far worse than his? Or did Rowena just break him that much, was he that desperate - Pain streaks through me, not only stopping my train of thought in its tracks, but throwing it off the rails. Dragoness smiles, her teeth white and as big as cars. 

“Thus, red smoke. My color. My demon. His in his own right, but a touch of dragon somewhere inside. As I said, I am very pleased with the result.” Crowley glowers, chewing the inside of his cheek, trying to figure out why her ‘gift’ turned into something that could devour souls. Trying to figure out if that was the only thing that was affected. Trying to figure out how he felt about this. Trying to figure out if those were his feelings or mine or some other soul’s. I begin to spin ideas but he is not in the mood, and I am shut down in painful dismissal. This type of introspection required drink, and the ability to Get drunk, and now was not the time or place.

“Well, as lovely as this revelation was, I have a bit of business to attend to.” Crowley looks at the still form of Bobby, glaring at him as the muscle on his arm is slowly covered in fresh skin. “Wanna go for walkies boy?” Crowley snaps and Bobby relaxes in that odd way when all the muscles of a body suddenly find themselves free of tension. He looks down at the young monster curled around his foot in love, completely conflicted, but draws his foot out slowly. The young girl curls tighter and sucks on her thumb, which is now clean of blood. Bobby takes a breath and steps away. The girl remains asleep. He steps away again and again as Crowley watches in faked boredom masking amusement and Dragoness hides none of hers. Finally Bobby turns and glares at Crowley. He walks with purpose over to us, Dragoness still watching with large draconian eyes showing her interest in the story unfolding before her. 

“What was the point of that? All you did was give me a curse that don’t matter here!”

“And made you watch as a child you tell bedtime stories to ate you alive?” Bobby’s face is drawn thin, lines of anger written between small splatters of blood, one which looks disturbingly like a kiss from very small lips. God Crowley, you sadistic bastard, you could’ve just dropped him somewhere….oh...then they might have just eaten all of him. “Exactly Chew Toy, I needed him alive to-”

“To what Crowley?” Crowley slowly smiles at his newest toy’s frowning face.

“Why Robert, to have a drink and describe in great detail how your boys failed. Don’t worry, I’ll get you a doggy bowl for your beer if you want.”

  
  


……………………….

We sit on the balcony, the fenced in bit of roof atop Crowley’s new California house and office. We sit with drinks watching a sunset that is as radiant as the turmoil and tension between the two men watching it. The balcony looks out toward it; over a valley, past the hills, and to mountains that eat the sun as it sets behind them. Its rays reflect on the stone of the balcony as it vibrates. Nearby two demons are finishing filling in the metal of the new sigil.

Crowley sips his drink, something extremely flamboyant with an umbrella that tastes of strawberry, a daiquiri I believe. It’s his fifth. Even through my soul, humanizing the body, it still takes quite a bit to get a demon drunk. Bobby is on his fourth beer, it takes a bit to get a werewolf drunk, it takes more for a veteran hunter and alcoholic. I can’t imagine the tolerance he has under his belt now. 

The last bit of drilling stops and Bobby looks over to see Tally, one of the three architectural demons, stand and dust off her pants, this used to be Alexa. The other, Barnett, is pouring gold into one of the symbols in the center. The circle is over all 50 or 60 feet wide, filling the entirety of the porch, even the table we sit at is inside it. With the sound of the drill gone bird calls can be heard. No cars, no yelling of tourists, just birds. The house is secluded, no one for miles, and very expensive deals and perimeter patrols keep planes, tourists, and anything Crowley didn’t want in, out. After his body was stolen, he’d doubled, tripled, then quadrupled security and then bought this house for more personal pursuits; leaving the one in San Fran for general business. He was in Ojai now; secluded, out of sight, surrounded by mountains and avocado trees. I have a feeling he got the idea of this location from my past. 

“What even is that symbol?” We are broken out of introspection by Bobby’s question. 

“It’s what your boys used to bring a little Hell to earth.” Bobby pauses with the beer half way to his lips.

“They what?”

“They brought a little Hell up to earth so they could fight me au naturale. They thought it would keep me in one place long enough to use a puzzle box.” Crowley takes a sip. Bobby stares.

“Those idjits.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Dean tastes like old cheeseburgers and sweat by the way. Sit Down. Don’t get your flannel in a knot, I put him back together. Mostly.” Bobby had stood up, anger in his eyes and ready to fight despite everything. He pauses, then sits back down; tense, angry, but currently impotent. I feel for him. Crowley sips his drink and watches as the last bit of gold is poured into the last bit of the last symbol. He snaps and the gold sets. He then nods to the two demons who nod in return and leave, taking their tools with them. “Have the others finished by the end of the week, the papers on my desk by Monday. If you manage not to fail that you may submit a request for some time off.” There are murmured thank yous as they close the door to the house.

As Crowley finishes his drink he takes out his phone and texts someone, or activates some tech, and soft chanting music fills the air. 

“You know, I believe I’m starting to feel the alcohol. It’s been... nearly 900 years since I actually felt that.”

“You gonna get all sappy on me Crowley? What typa drunk are ya?”

“The violent kind. At least, when I was alive. Why do you think I’m drinking? I’m curious.”

“Oh joy.”

“What, you don’t enjoy being part of an experiment?”

“No!”

“Well… too bad.” Crowley snaps and the Pappy Van Winkle appears. He pours himself some and passes the bottle and the second glass to Bobby. I sigh, and just watch the colors of the sunset as best I can through Crowley’s shifting gaze. It’s beautiful, that type of sunset with deep reds, dark shadows, and light playing on the curves of mountains. Bobby shoots his beer and pours himself some of the whiskey.

“So. What did the idjits do next?”

“When I showed up, or after I ate-”

“After you fucking souruītā.” What does that mean?

“It means soul eater Chew Toy. So, they brought Jack.” Bobby sighs and takes another drink.

“Those fucking idjits.”

“It was a good idea, they just executed it poorly, and hundreds of years too late. So they brought him, he got angry, he attacked, opened up my stomach. I threatened some things. They ran. I almost ate Sam alive, they-”

“You what!?”

“Well he danced out of the circle in time.” Crowley takes a sip of the whiskey and breathes in the smell of sulfur. He pauses and looks at Bobby out of the corner of his eyes briefly. Bobby is trying to stay calm and drink… but is failing, so he’s leaning more on the drinking aspect of that attempt. I myself am feeling a tad heavy headed too just from being here. Fortunately I am not a stupid drunk… If it’s even the alcohol. Crowley wasn’t lying though. He is a violent drunk. Well Fergus was. Now that Fergus is Crowley, a demon, violence is a lot more cruel and complicated. I can feel it. I know what is coming and I can’t warn Bobby, if that would even mean anything. Crowley is reveling in my confused and wilting self. He takes another sip and basks in the myriad of emotions he is feeling, savoring them a moment longer before he starts his next plan. 

“You’re right Robert, it really was a horrible idea putting me in that form. If I’d have gotten all three of them I’m not sure I would have been able to resist.”

“Resist what, princess?” Crowley ignores Bobby and shoots the drink. He sets it down then stands and regards the gold inlay on the roof. The gold is beautifully shimmering in the sunset, completely betraying its purpose in the fiery red light. 

“Let’s test it out Robert.” 

“What?” Says Bobby, having been pointedly looking anywhere but the demon. Crowley gestures to the circle. 

“My toy.”

“You know, I think I’d prefer if we didn’t.” Crowley chuckles and watches as the sigils on the ground begin to glow. The smell of rotten eggs permeates the air as the ground turns red. The soft chanting music stops amidst sparks and the odor of sulfur as a bit of Hell comes to Crowley’s balcony. 

“Holy shit.” Crowley shakes his head as the ground sparks.

“Unholy Robert.” As Crowley opens his mouth the fading sulfur cuts through the flavors of lingering whiskey like a knife. It is as jarring and bitter as his exit. He flies out and circles the porch as red smoke. It has begun. The fun. The play. The horror. And nothing I can do will change the outcome. So I sit and ‘enjoy’ the play as if I am a precognitive Abe Lincoln. 

Now that I’m in his body, I can watch his form coalesce. It’s a very strange phenomenon. The smoke solidifies in parts with no specific order. An arm here, thigh, stomach, short tail, chitinous growths on the shoulders. The smoke coalesces in its entirety quickly and soon enough there is a demon on the roof. Crowley sits on the floor leaning against the house, his face mimicking the one he normally wears. 

“You’re still one ugly sonofabitch.” The second mouth laughs and the sound of razors fills the air at the rude comment. 

“My mother would disagree.”

“Rowena, I doubt-“

“Dragoness. Who has agreed to lend me her body for my fight with Jack.”

“Your Fight With Who?!” I sigh. I hate talking in this body. The voice doesn’t sound right when I use it. But to skip to the point I’ll talk. I don’t want this to last overlong. The sooner we get to the horror he has planned, the sooner it will be over. 

“They put Crowley in the box and took it to the bunker, where Crowley’s hunter’s are. They made Jack and Sam let Crowley out. There was discussion. It ended with Jack agreeing to fight Crowley, anteing himself up.” Bobby sighs. 

“Fucking Stupid Idjits. Why didn’ they just put the box in concrete?”

“Because they wanted to get Dean out of the box first, Crowley brought him with.” I say with a sigh as I sit back down.

“Idjits.”

“No. I’m just smarter. Jack agreed to fight me in return for me limiting my personal soul kill streak to one hundred a year.”

“Personal?” I shake my head at the question. They still can’t think like him. I look at Crowley as I feel his eyes on me and he nods as his long arm reaches past me to grab the bottle of whiskey. Both Bobby and I watch as the bottle is sipped from with the second mouth in his chest. It’s odd. Very odd. The bottle is so tiny in his hands and next to the mouth looks like a toy. The motions of the mouth are not slow, razor sharp teeth occasionally scrape an edge of the bottle, and the sound it makes is grating. Crowley stops his repast and looks at me again, waiting, knowing that talking in this body made me uncomfortable and therefore happy to force it on me. I shake my head and deflate, sink into the seat from the weight of knowledge on my shoulders. 

“Nothing mentioned using Dragoness to destroy souls Bobby. Or turning souls into monsters. However he does mainly limit the ones from earth to a hundred. Any extras come from Hell’s library.” Bobby is silent, pondering these loopholes with anger and annoyance. They are secondary to the real danger. None of them had realized the flaw in their plan. The biggest flaw. A crisis that could, and probably would, ensue if they won, and Crowley lost. If he signed a contract that prevented him from eating souls, if they managed to cover all the loopholes that let him destroy the very essence of a person...he’d go through withdrawal. How many people would die from that? The king of hell, back on blood? Or if he didn’t go that route, how many would die from him using them as a distraction as he detoxed? Even then, the Winchesters don’t know what is happening to him, that he is feeling on his own. They could be stopping him short of being able to empathize. Or perhaps they would be stopping something far worse, a demon lord of hell capable of human feeling and therefore even better at manipulation. 

Bobby doesn’t know half of this, but concern still etches his face with deep lines as he looks around. He looks at Crowley, at the sigils, at the fading sunset, at his drink. He knows he is in for something terrible. He doesn’t know the half of it. This short play Crowley had written was beautiful, worthy of a comic book supervillain of the worst caliber. The type they don’t print because the hero loses, because they wouldn’t sell due to the sheer amount of horror in the pages. 

“I’m dyin tonight, ain’t I?” I look toward the man next to me and can’t meet his eyes. He looks past me to Crowley, who has emptied the bottle already. 

“And why would you think that Robert?”

“Because you’re tellin me this shit.” Crowley sets the bottle down and stands, a slow process. A full 26 feet now, his head is just above the roof of the house. Those last few souls had put him past some threshold. A child drinking their milk would love this, instant growth spurts with no growing pains. 

Crowley stands loosely, his form hunched over both of us, his chest mouth sporting a cruel smile. 

“I did warn the boys what would happen if they messed with me Robert. And as you know…”

“He keeps his promises.” I look at Robert, finally meeting his gaze. “Sorry.”

“Don be Bec.”

“It’s kinda my fault.”

“It woulda happened eventually.” He says, and both of us know he is unsure of that, trying to comfort me in an unwinnable situation. My soul aches as a large hand reaches down to grab the hunter. The double edged nails shine black and cut into Bobby’s own hand as he grabs at them. The hand only big enough to grab him due to the obscenely long fingers and the nails that near double their length. 

“Well this is a fantasy I’ve had since that kiss.” Before Bobby can respond he is lifted into the air until he is level with Crowley’s face. He takes his drink with him, managing not to spill it. He stares at the face a moment then defiantly shoots the whiskey and throws the glass at Crowley’s head. Crowley doesn’t even flinch, he just laughs, blowing Bobby’s hat off with the force of breath from two mouths. 

“Get bent Crowley.”

“I’m hurt Robert. But-“

“Not as much as you’ll hurt me. Get past the cliche horror and let’s get this over with.”

“Robert. It may be cliche, but it won’t be over. I have a week before I need to be anywhere and I intend to stay in this form so we feel every… single... second of each other. Because I’m not just a sadist, I’m a masochist. So… let’s see which of us breaks first, in your case, literally.”

The mouth in his chest is disturbingly human except for the teeth; the tongue no longer than average but a much darker red. It is surrounded by lighter gums that lead to skin with almost no lips. The mouth opens wide, still barely big enough to swallow the man dangling above it like a superhero above a pit of sharks. Crowley’s back arches in an attempt to recreate a head tilted to drop a grape in. 

And I watch, unable to be horrified any more, as Robert is dropped past razors that catch his clothes and flesh as he passes. I watch, too tired to know what to think or feel, as his form thrashes for a few moments, grabbing at teeth with hands that are quickly becoming slick with blood before a snap paralyzes them and they slip out of view. I watch, curious, as chest muscles bunch in an odd way, using the pectorals to swallow. I watch, understanding the plan far too easily, as Crowley cuts open his own stomach... to allow air in for his meal to breath. I watch, odd hunger permeating my every aspect, as Crowley laughs at the muffled curses and screams that grow louder as he cuts the small holes. I watch, bored, as he snaps and Robert is wracked with pain raising the screams to a whole new level, slowly so slowly tearing him apart. I watch trying to figure out if I’d rather be Crowley or Robert right now. The torturer or the one who knows that even though this is painful it will probably end, permanently, soon. I watch, feeling and remembering the darkest wants and desires I had forgotten from when I was alive. I watch and I feel my soul darken around the edges as the weight of what is happening latches on to my very being. 

I watch as two people I know slowly die. Bobby, and the person I was when I knew right from wrong. 

………………….

It’s been two days. Bobby is still alive, somehow. Still sane, unfortunately. Still being pulled apart by red smoke and acid. 

I’m still sitting in the human meat suit. Still breathing. Still talking. Still confused. Sitting and feeling myself tip over a metaphorical lip toward Hell. 

Crowley still lays back on the stone in his true form. Still happily taunting Robert. Still putting off the end. Still enjoying his ‘meal.’

“I know you’re tired, but keep trying to escape. You’re almost there, well I am, and it feels quite nice.” I turn away, not really interested in seeing what Crowley is going to do next. I’m too tired and hungry to watch.

I remember that I had once thought that I would make a good monster, if I wasn’t so empathetic. I had a cruel streak, but no one ever seemed to deserve it. I could almost always understand where the other person was coming from. Now...I could feel the ability to empathize slipping away. I hear a scream and a happy moan and sigh. Right now I am finally numb from my inability to do anything and my confusing emotions, but how long before the confusion slips away too and all that is left is the monster? Would Crowley let that happen? Or would he attempt to keep me in this state forever. Too used to him to be horrified by anything other than my own inability to be horrified?

I look at the food in front of me, unable to eat the salad at the thought of other...food. How a human could even fit in...I shake my head trying to rid myself of the constant stream of correlations and questions that my mind pours at me. It doesn’t work. A human stomach is a full twelve inches tall and six inches across. At 26 feet that would still only be four feet high and that doesn’t leave much space for the other stomachs. Of course his belly is large, I could probably increase the size to four and half feet and… I shake my head. The answer is magic, demon physics, non euclidean geometry. It doesn’t matter. I am sitting in a body not my own, next to a sunbathing demon who owns my soul, who is currently eating a man I consider a friend alive, and I don’t know how I feel about it. So, no. Nothing matters. It’s too much; it overwhelms me until it melts together and makes me numb. I’m done. I just need to feel nothing, or perhaps I need to feel something but feel nothing despite it? Am I numb or overwhelmed? 

“Eat the food Chew Toy.” I look at Crowley, his face blank, literally, the voice that is speaking filled with razors. I have no idea how he can see me. Still, magic probably. I push the plate away and look at Crowley. 

“Make me.” His whole body tenses at the comment. It’s an obvious taunt, bait, but filled with so many implications that he actually pauses for a moment. I can feel his anger being tempered by curiosity and mild trepidation as he turns toward me. Have I snapped and gone insane? Have I finally given into that masochistic streak he’s been trying to nurture? Am I suicidal again? What is going on? I can see the questions in his featureless face before he masks them with mild annoyed surprise. 

“Pardon?”

“You heard me Crowley. Make me. I’m nauseous, hungry, and confused. I don’t feel like eating a burger, a salad, or meal substitutes. You want me to eat because my discomfort amuses you? To keep the meat suit healthy while I inhabit it? Make me.” He stares, as best a face with no eyes can, and rolls from his back onto his stomach. I can hear faint cursing as he does, his weight crushing the man beneath him. He pushes himself up and brings his face close to mine, my own features appearing on it. Older, scarred, bleeding. 

“You know what I will do if-“

“I don’t care. Kill whoever, torture whoever. I don’t care.” I look him in my eyes and just sit and wait for whatever will come. 

The sound of nearby birds feels out of place but it fills the air nonetheless. Creating a break in my reality for half a second before the numbness returns. The bird’s melodic tweets are interrupted by the percussion of a snap. I’m pulled from the body abruptly and float toward him at his will, a dog on a leash. He holds me in his hand and regards me, it is interesting being examined by my own face. I’m turned and twisted, held up in the light of the fading sun and put into shadows. I’m regarded every which way until my face grows dark and angry as he determines something.

“Bollocks.”

Crowley reaches with one of his other hands towards his limp meat suit and pulls the phone from its pocket. The hologram glitches for a moment as it adjusts to the unnatural size of the hands holding it, but it stabilizes and Crowley places the call. 

“Mother. My private house. Now. You have five minutes.”

Crowley ends the call and continues regarding me, now with a face I don’t recognize. It has orange hair and wild sideburns. They frame a face that starts round and ends in a pointed chin with a slight cleft. The nose is long but rounds to a red point that matches the cheeks. The eyes are blue and stand out below bushy brows. 

Rowena arrives moments later in a rush and freezes at the face in front of her. 

“Fergus!” The face vanishes and as it is replaced with Mark Sheppard’s I realize I had just seen Fergus’s visage. I suppose I might be interested if I had pencils to draw it, or hands, or emotion, but I don’t and don’t care. 

“Mother. I have a problem I would like your assistance with.” I’m brought round toward Rowena and she stares curiously at the soul her son is showing her. 

“It’s a soul that is turnin into a demon. About halfway there, probably more. I dinnae see the problem.”

“It’s Chew Toy. I’d prefer she didn’t.” Rowena gasps. 

“Ye put her on the rack!”

“No, this is what happens when you spend 500 or so years with the King of Hell.” Rowena pauses. 

“I suppose that makes sense. Why do ye not just let her turn inta a demon then change her back?”

“Repeatedly? I do believe her soul might fall apart without my help if we do that.” Rowena considers this then nods.

“Unlikely, but it could cause some damage.” 

He wants an everstone. No evolution for me. Crowley turns toward me at the thought. He examines my memories but isn’t finding the answer fast enough. The Pokemon franchise is a Rather expansive bit of information to sift through.

“A what?” Pokémon, everstones keep pokémon from evolving into their next form. Crowley turns back to his mother and gestures to the seat where Bobby was two days ago. “Mother, is there any spell or item that can prevent a tortured soul from becoming a demon?” Rowena huffs and side eyes her son but goes to sit at the table. She is about to sit down when she notices a hat on the ground. Her eyes narrow as she picks it up. 

“Fergus, is this nay Robert’s hat? Where is he? He’ll be missin it.” I feel a chill of anticipation for the scene about to unfold. This will be beautiful. I pause, realizing I am once again ‘feeling’. My numbness faded away without me noticing. 

Crowley plucks the hat from his mother’s hands. 

“You’re right. I’ll give it to him.” And he drops it down his second mouth, his chest tightening as he swallows. Rowena stares in confusion for a moment before her eyes widen. 

“Fergus! Nay! Dinnae tell me you killed him!”

“Oh no, he’s alive, body and soul, for now.” Bye body, then bye soul. I watch as Rowena recoils a bit at Crowley’s statement. She holds his gaze but casts a quick glance to his stomach which has a few small holes in it. 

“Fergus... What did he do to deserve this?”

“Him? Nothing mother. The Winchester’s interfered. I told them what would happen, I was no happier than you about it.” She raises her head and swallows at this, noticing a word that may have a deeper meaning.

“Was?”

“Well, he feels rather nice... well he did. He stopped the struggling that was working out my knots about 30 minutes ago. Holding the entirety of Hell’s souls can cause a bit of tension. So unless you want to join him, I suggest you find a solution to my problem.” Rowena takes a breath and a step back. This form is harder to control, she knows it. Crowley probably has more control than most but...

“I’ll try Fergus. I’d suggest to start by puttin’ her back in the body and doin’ the curin ritual.”

“Obviously.”

Crowley flicks me back into the body dismissively. I come to life and gasp as he snaps and gives me control. I lean back and laugh, ignoring Crowley’s displeasure at seeing his body act so uncouth. This is insane, they are going to try to put me in a stasis! A half demonized soul. No wonder I feel odd! 

Crowley looks back at his mother who is staring at me, concern etched on her face. 

“Hurry mother, before I get annoyed and eat her. If I do, and lose my body, I will consider you responsible.”

………………………………

It’s odd. This half numb state I keep flipping in and out of. I’d been depressed before. For some people it is only numbness. For others it’s sadness. Or self loathing. I had feelings when I was depressed, I think. It was so long ago. I couldn’t slip into it with Crowley. He wouldn’t let me. I think I had felt depressed for around a year with him before he pulled me out of that and into horror. During my life it was an odd on and off for a good 20 some years. Since grade school till I got my meds right in college. It still slipped in occasionally. I wouldn’t change that for the world, it was horrible but I think that’s what gave me my ability to empathize. Although, I empathized too much some times.

I need that more than ever. The ability to understand. With this numbness, this filter over everything making it hard to care, I have to work hard to relate to other people. I feel some things. I can look at Crowley and imagine the screaming I should be hearing from Bobby. That I should be emitting myself. All I can wonder is when the darker urges twisting what remaining emotion I have will replace this numbness. Do I want that? I want to draw, to create, but all I can see are gray and black memories. I feel like if I put pen to paper all I will get is an endless series of cubes. I always draw cubes when I can’t figure out what to draw or need to escape. Perhaps if I am dark and broken I could at least draw something. That might be nice. 

I watch Crowley pace, waiting for something. He had placed a call or two earlier and was growing impatient. I have a feeling I know what they were for. The purifying ritual required consecrated ground and purified blood. If he didn’t want his body pumped full of it he’d need another body to shunt me in. That could be interesting. 

Suddenly it breaks. The numbness. And I laugh. A near 900 year old demon frustrated because his toy is broken. Because it is difficult to fix. I’m glared at and I grin. 

“I’m your teddy bear Crowley. Are you sad because your teddy bear broke? Got a stain? Poor demon king.” 

I am rammed up against the side of the house. Claws inches deep into the wood and stucco and whatever the fuck the house is made of. 

“Are you really taunting me?” I grin. 

“Oh yes. Because this is a situation you can’t win. If you kill me, I win. I am quite happy to die. Long and painful, short and quick. Either way, I win. Keep me alive and torture me, punish me. Until you find a solution, all you’ll do is break your toy more. Purify me, make me feel again, well, this won’t be me anymore. It’ll just start over. Unless you find a way to keep me humanish, well... Even then I win because I’ll be able to create with my own mind again. So, kill me, vent your anger. Please. I’m getting...bored.” The numbness has started to return. I’m at the precipice. This numbness is my safe space as my emotions are being...warped. As soon as this stops I’ll feel again, those twisted emotions and urges demons have...will be more intense, they will engulf me. 

But for now, I’m numb. 

“I guess I’m living on a razor ...now.”

Crowley drops me, but I can see the ideas flickering across his featureless face. 

“Chew Toy. I want you to figure out a way to keep you human.”

Ah. He wants me to create for him. He thinks in this numb state I won’t be able to. It’s true, I can’t create for myself in this state, create without stimulus. For others though? I can always do something for other people, even if I shouldn’t. Even if it hurts me. In this case though... 

“I would need more information. But one solution is put me in a crystal and just carry that. You won’t be able to put me in your meat suit, but I won’t be dying.” I know I should feel satisfied that I thwarted his plan to make me void my contract. I think I needed another idea though to satisfy the contract. “Another would be to let me create more things. That would probably keep me human.” Crowley huffs in annoyance and sits back down. I watch him, his red grey skin stretched over spindly bones and thick muscle. It’s taut everywhere except his stomach, which bleeds sluggishly from the wounds he made as air holes for his ‘pet’ who will die in a day at the least. I swear I can hear breathing. 

I wonder if I can taunt him into eating me. If I can, in this body I could kill Bobby. At best it will put him out of his misery and piss off Crowley. At worst it’d be interesting to finally kill someone myself. Or be killed. Bobby could withstand this pain of course. I believe I thought at one point he shouldn’t have to go through this. He is a smart, good man. Selfless. I remember that that means something. I think. 

Anyway, it’d be a way to pass the time. I’m about to start when I realize I don’t know how to. In my numb state I can’t think of how to taunt, tease, or tempt him. I’d have to wait for another lapse in the numbness or for the treatments to start. That could be interesting. If I could get him to eat this body while it is filled with purified blood. Hmmm I think I’m supposed to care about what that might cause for others but honestly now I’m just curious. 

However I’m also here now. With nothing to do. Numb. Hmmm. Numb. I wonder if I can use that. I look at the food to my right. There is a knife, thankfully, that I can use. It looks like I can still have ideas for myself in this form, this state. They just take a really long time. 

I pick up the knife and sink it into the flesh of the wrist. It hurts, but I can’t bring myself to care. I wonder which will piss him off more, damaging the body or the suit? I start working on the flesh of the bicep, through the coat. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Pissing you off I think.”

“You’ve succeeded. Stop.”

“Bite me.”

“Really? You’re going for that phrase?” I smile. I can feel the numbness fading again. 

“C’mon Fergus. You know you’re curious. What will it feel like? Wouldn’t I feel nice? And what emotions-“

“Really. Shut. Up.” I’m pushed against the wall by force as he stands and his face twists into my features once again. I’ll admit it’s unnerving, but also fascinating. You only ever get to see your face on a screen or mirror or photo. Seeing it in flesh is a surreal experience. 

Crowley runs a hand over the wounds and rips on my current body and they vanish. He drops me and leans back against the wall, checking the phone for updates. I’ll have to try harder to get to him, he knows I’m angling for something, probably exactly what in fact. 

“Fergus. Aren’t you curious what a half demon soul would taste like?” He ignores me and continues fiddling haphazardly with the phone, his too large fingers occasionally causing the holo screen to glitch. 

“Suicidal again, after all these years.”

“Takes one to know one.” Crowley’s hand flies out again and crushes the throat I’m using. I had hit a nerve apparently. If I can get him to destroy his favorite suits, meat or otherwise, that’s a bonus.

“What?”

“Hey. Death by bottle is still suicide. Perhaps you figured you’d be better as a demon than a pisspoor tailor.” I grin inwardly as I feel his grip tighten. I’m grasping at straws here, but perhaps I’m right. Either way I’m getting on his nerves. “C’mon. You don’t let people talk to you like this. You’re king. You-“

“Your attempts at temptation are laudable but laughable. I might give in but I require you at the fight.”

“Really? I doubt I’m of use to you there.”

“You need to pretend to be me, for five minutes.”

“Jack will know.”

“Not if I leave a bit of demon in you. He may even grow overconfident if he senses how weak you are and thinks it is me.”

“Maybe. But why do you need me to be you? Why does that mean I need to be fixed?”

“Because you are a horrible actress right now, even more than normal. And I need you to negotiate the rules.”

“Why not get Rowena to read and negotiate? She’s probably better at it. Kill me now.”

“I’ll kill you after, rest assured.”

“Promises promises. King Fergus, we have a pretty fun situation. I’m already dead, I just happen to be possessing a body you like. Get me another one, wouldn’t I feel good sliding down your throat? If you’re in control, you have nothing to worry about-“

“Darling. Stop trying. You’re very bad at this.” I look up at the twenty some foot monstrosity holding me against the wall and smile. 

“Your drooling mouth says otherwise.” A single claw pricks the chin I am currently wearing, forcing my gaze up at his face and his only. 

“Let me tell you a secret. A story. Once upon a time a little self absorbed angel was cast into Hell. He wanted to rule, but he kept messing with daddy’s toys even from below, so he was locked up. Hell needed a new ruler. Daddy and the angel at least agreed on that. They also agreed that whoever ruled needed power, but not too much. So a crown was crafted that gave the wearer power over the souls in Hell, power to reshape it, and a bit of power to impress other demons, but not much more than that. However, if the self absorbed angel escaped he didn’t want the ruler to rival him. So he put two small little tiny curses on the crown when daddy wasn’t looking. One that was entwined with how the king controlled the souls. To control the souls, the king needed to hold them...A demon can only hold so many souls, the king needs to hold an infinite number. So, everything inside the ruler becomes infinite. Whoever wears the crown, can never be full. Not by flesh, not sin, not souls sitting in a prison. Always hungry. The other curse was that the crown couldn’t be passed on freely or taken once donned except after the wearer died, except by him. To drive demons to distraction, to fight amongst themselves, try to free him to be rid of the hunger.” I look at him and feel the numbness start to return. I hope this switching between dark emotion and absence of ends soon. In the meantime it’d be best to keep myself occupied, and an attempt at a false rescue is as good a goal as any. 

“So why did you take it, if you knew the curse? Are you stupid or just your normal masochist?”

Crowley drops me. 

“Only plebeians and boring people have sex with the same goal every time. As they say, it’s about the journey… Same with all sin.” He pauses as he stands and his second mouth smiles. “And I believe a friend of yours journey just ended.” He runs a hand over the wound in his stomach and it changes into solid flesh. I sigh. I am too late. Too late for Bobby. Oh well, I could stand staring at his skull for a couple days while I melt. “You really thought I wouldn’t figure out why you wanted a kiss? You’re trying to manipulate me. Me! I manipulate master manipulators.”

“Sounds kinky.”

There is a cough and a man in priest's robes brings himself to our attention as he walks in surrounded by four demons. One carries a rather limp form, a makeshift version of my own body. The body is that of me at...35 or so. It also is bound and trussed up like a chicken. Crowley turns and mimics the priest’s face, smiling in a cruel parody of happiness.

“Father Winster. I need you to cure this...person.” The priest swallows and nods, not saying anything or looking overlong at the demon in front of him. He doesn't ask questions, or talk, or waste time. He wants to be out of here as quickly as possible. He nods to me and holds out his hand.

“Come, we shall cleanse you with the Lord’s will.”

“I-” I am stopped from speaking as with a snap I am thrust out of the body and into ‘my own’. I struggle immediately, I try to speak but a gag is quickly shoved into my mouth. I do not want to be in this body. While I am comfortable in it, Crowley is also much more comfortable Doing things to it… Actually...that could be an advantage… I’m used to fearing him, or more accurately what he might do to me. Right now anything he does pushes me closer to becoming a demon or to him killing me; my goals. If this cure doesn’t work… But if it does... I look back and see the sneering face of the priest atop Crowley’s body, a hand waving goodbye as his form vanishes from view.

I’m taken down to a smaller room to the left of Crowley’s office. The room is sparse. A single chair bolted to the floor sits in the center of a circle. Light from bay windows flows in through heavy shutters that are there just in case the ritual had to be performed while there was company present. The room is white, Heaven white, with a cement floor.

I’m pushed roughly into the chair in the center of the room and tied down. Two of the demons are here to watch; one stands at the door and the other ties me to the chair. The priest circles and looks at me.

“Who is she?” The demons remain silent. The priest sighs and opens his robe, he removes a line of syringes and sets them on the ground. “Is the room already consecrated?” The demons look at the circle and nod towards it, standing carefully away from it. Father Winster sighs and removes one of the syringes from the bandolier. He flicks it and looks up at me before sighing again. Without speaking he walks forward and jams the needle into my neck without care.

I scream, it hurts like hell. I’m used to it of course, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, and leaning into the pain a bit here could be an advantage, after all, a demon wouldn’t act like this. Admit to pain, at least most wouldn’t unless they were trying to garner sympathy. The priest staggers back, surprised. 

“What...what is going on here?” He looks at the demons, who still say nothing. He shakes his head and takes a breath, returning to push the plunger of the syringe in. The pressure is immense and I cringe, trying to pull away. I can feel the priest's eyes on me, confused and curious. I do not want to go back to being human, not completely. I don’t feel guilt here, for the first time in hundreds of years I feel... unburdened. Whether I’m numb, or emotional but empathetically stunted...I feel free. I don’t want to give that up. Not yet. So if I can upset the priest, let him find out that he is doing this procedure on a normal human, perhaps I can get him to stop. Perhaps I can get him to fail… Perhaps I can get Crowley to get angry enough to just kill him. Or perhaps I can so obviously try to get him killed that I can deny Crowley that pleasure because I will have ‘won’. Of course if he figures out that’s my game, the priest will die anyway.

I wince as the needle is pulled out and look at the priest, but he has already turned his back, not eager to see my expression perhaps. He looks at the two demons and nods, and leaves the room.

This is going to be a long, difficult eight hours.

Two more hours have passed before I finally catch the priest’s eyes. I look quickly between him and his waist repeatedly. Hanging on it is an aspergillum. He glances down too and his eyes narrow, no demon would ask for that. He looks back at the demons as he withdraws the needle from my neck.

“Are you sure…” He doesn’t finish the sentence but takes a deep breath. Perhaps realizing they won’t answer, perhaps realizing asking the question could get him in trouble. He returns his gaze to me again and then looks at the demons. “I will return in an hour.” He leaves, but I am hopeful.

Those hopes are dashed when three more hours pass. I wince as the needle is once again pulled from my neck, a welt is beginning to form there, the skin irritated from repeated penetration. The priest goes to remove my gag and both demons shift. The priest raises his hands at the sound.

“I need to test the efficacy of the procedure so far. There is another way, but I was not sure if you’d prefer that.” He picks up the aspergillum and shows it to the demons, who both nod but tense and step back.

Father Winster takes a breath and leaves the room. He returns moments later holding the aspergillum, which is heavier than before, and both demons flinch as he passes but they are not the object of his interest. The aspergillum is shaken over me and the holy water hits my skin, cold and fresh. I sigh, there is no burning, no sizzling, a mild sting perhaps, but it was only another reason Crowley wanted me human again. I can’t protect him from holy water if it hurts me as well. Of course, I’m not sure he even needs me for that anymore. He might, he’s still a demon.

The priest looks at me with concerned eyes, there should have been some mild reaction at least. He turns to the demons.

“There is a problem, I need to talk with the King.” The demons look at each other and one nods. I grin as the priest’s back turns. The other demon sees it as Father Winster and the escorting demon leave. He frowns, his thin round face filled with boredom moments before, now filled with concern. His hair is buzzed and he reminds me mildly of Curly from the Stooges and I wonder briefly if the host and I are related. Then I wonder if people even know who the Stooges are these days. I am pondering the evolution of comedy when there is a crash from directly above us and then silence. Father Winster returns moments later; alone, shaking and pale. I grin through the gag. I already know what happened upstairs. The other demon is dead, probably with a snapped neck, maybe eaten, or set up in smoke for allowing the priest to test holy water on me and distract him. Father Winster stares at me.

“You’re human.” I nod. “You’re...turning into a demon.” I nod again. “And he doesn’t want that.” I nod. “And you...don’t want to be human?” Before I can respond we are interrupted by two more demons coming in. These ones are lanky compared to the previous two, neither are in suits or look like professional bodyguards. In fact I recognize one. Ranni. Still in that private school girl outfit and glasses. She taps the demon on on the shoulder

“The king wants to see you.” The demon freezes, and then turns to run, smart enough to realize that he had failed. Two demons outside catch him. He struggles and screams but is overpowered as another demon comes in. His protests are muffled suddenly by a whole apple. I throw back my head and laugh as best I can through the gag. If Crowley had ordered that he was being cliche beyond belief, but the insult to the demon is clear. He had failed and is now being demoted to a simple meal. If a demon had thought of this, well, they might either get added to the meal for the cliche joke or a pat on the back for the humor.

Crowley is greatly amusing in this form when you aren’t the object of his attention.

Father Winster looks from Ranni to me as we stare at each other.

“I-”

“Leave.” Father Winster nods and quickly acquiesces. Ranni walks up and circles me, regarding me from every angle. “Well, he obviously doesn’t keep you for your looks.” I roll my eyes at her and raise my brows in incredulity. Is this really the best insult she can come up with? My physical appearance? I haven't been in my own body for at least 300 years, I barely remember my face on occasion. She stops in front of me and leans against the wall. “Why you?” I shrug. Luck of the draw, then my own talent. Just like show biz. She sighs and pauses before her next question as a scream loudly slices through the air and then is silenced. She looks back at me. “Been causing trouble?” I just smile. “I thought so. He’ll be angry. He’s lost two demons because of you.” My smile grows. No, he hadn’t lost two demons, he’d Gained an excuse to Eat two demons. He didn’t like to kill his workers without reason but when he got one, well he Happily went to town. It’s a chance to vent his anger at hundreds of years of disappointment and betrayal by Hell’s previous denizens. So he would definitely punish me, but not because he lost two demons. It will be because I had manipulated His demons and plans. Because I had the audacity to show him I could still play this game, still wanted to play this game. 

Ranni see’s something in my eyes apparently, or perhaps my smile, and her face goes blank.

“You’d have made a good demon. A very good demon. But would you still be able to do what you do for him now?” I shrug, but tilt my head. I didn’t know, neither did Crowley. Whatever my vices or obsessions turn into could mess with my ability to create, definitely make it harder for me to think outside the box. Humans can be good, evil, in between. Demons and angels may not be pure good and evil, but both are confined by rules that make it hard for them to see the grass on the other side of the fence. Sure they can peek between the cracks, but to get a full view they need a human to stand on the shoulders of. 

Ranni watches me in silence for a moment, then shakes her head and gets out her phone, ready to wait this out.


	43. The Crossed Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which many things are devoured, killed, maimed, and destroyed. 
> 
> And one thing...breaks.

The hours pass and I feel barely any different than I did eight hours earlier when I left the little bit of Hell on the balcony. I stand there again now, the priest on one side, Ranni on the other, me still tied up. Once again numb and uncaring. The switch between these two states is becoming tiring, I hope it ends soon. I am unfazed by the three corpses next to us, one ripped in half, one with the upper torso missing, and the last with a missing eye and a whole apple shoved so far into his mouth the jaw is broken. It’s the one that shoved the apple into the struggling guard's mouth. Crowley hadn’t appreciated the cliche. 

Father Winster is shaking next to me as he looks at Crowley who sits back in his human body sipping at a drink. Crowley looks from him to me, and my numb smile, and frowns. 

“Well?”

“She...she’s human. It was never going to work. I...I told you. I am sorry but the ritual is meant for demons. With time it could be perfected to halt or reverse the change from human to demon but as it is it-”

“What I am hearing is that you Failed.” He looks at the priest who is still shaking, at Ranni who stands silently waiting for orders, then at me. He frowns, unhappy with the result and ready to take his anger out on someone. I’m the only one available, and he might take that even though I’ll break further. He looks at the group before him and stands, making a quick decision. He walks forward and stops in front of the priest, his presence threatening beyond belief despite being two inches shorter than the holy man. The fact that there is an eyeball floating in his drink probably helps along with the myriad of corpses.

“I don’t tolerate failure. So. Drink.”

“W-What?” The priest manages to stammer out as Crowley takes a step forward. He holds out the drink and waits.

“Take it.” The priest reaches out slowly with a shaking hand and as soon as he has the slightest grip on the glass Crowley lets go. “Figure out how to make the spell work before Saturday, or you won’t fail me a third time.” He looks to Ranni and nods. “Make sure he enjoys that drink to the fullest.” She returns the gesture and drags the priest with her into the house. Father Winster goes willingly, stunned at the turn of events. He looks at the drink as he walks, and near drops it, as the drink looks back. 

Crowley looks at the three remaining demons and they all shift or swallow in various states of uncertainty and fear. “Bring me the angel. Cuffed. You have half an hour.” They all nod and quickly leave. Crowley turns and looks at me all tied up and begins to circle me. “What should I do with you while we wait?” I sigh, bored and once again, unable to feel fear or anger. The gag is removed with a thought and I cough, jaw tired from being held open. I move it around in circles as Crowley paces. “Well? I asked you a question. What should I do with you?” He snaps and the bonds and gags vanish. I stretch a brief moment, then answer. 

“Eat me, torture me, kill me, fuck me.” Crowley pauses his laps and I can feel his eyes on me. “You wanted ideas, there are four very basic ones, your current ‘go to’s’ I believe.” He continues to circle, I can’t gauge his reaction without turning to follow him, and I just don’t care enough.

“Which one would you prefer?”

“I really don’t care.” There is silence for a brief moment before he returns to view in front of me. 

“Well then, why not all four?” I sigh as his hand roughly grabs my face and I shrug. 

“Sure, why not.” His eyes stare into mine a moment, then he pushes me away, disgusted and bored with my inability to feel or react. I am currently a chew toy that doesn’t squeak. I’m broken, and not in any fun way. He walks to the table we sat at drinking a few days ago and beckons me to follow. I do, not really having any reason not too. We sit, I where Robert was and he where we sat. He sighs and stares at me with bitter disappointment that his toy may never regain its luster. 

“I am so glad I’m not a pit demon. This boring stage of the change is aggravating. I’d just end up leaving. I don’t know how they stand it.”

“Probably by picturing the person on the rack as an object and just using them for pleasure, not expecting a reaction. So when they do get one they are pleasantly surprised instead of disappointed. Like a pessimist who’s given up on the world.” Crowley blinks. 

“Well, at least you’re still intuitive. Let’s try it, couples often use toys when the relationship has gotten dull.” I look at him with a blank face and wonder at the metaphor. 

“If I’m the toy, then who is the couple? You and the myriad of souls you possess? I’m surprised that after your last marriage, which was by all accounts successful, you’d turn to polygamy. So is it just you and your red dick?” Crowley regards me curiously. 

“And you still have your wit.”

“Those were genuine questions.” He doesn’t miss a beat and after a quick huff of a chuckle retorts with a response that I believe should terrify me. 

“Well, I suppose I could answer them, but I’ve always preferred ‘show’ rather than ‘tell’.” 

I watch as he bursts out of his body, red smoke filling the air and circling a moment before the odd transition to solidity starts. I watch the smoke roil and grow appendages until a full demon steps out. He lands with a thud, facing me with the stars just beginning to show above his head, like little bits of soul. 

At this moment we are again interrupted as two demons come in with a shackled angel, throwing him into the circle and quickly leaving, having no want to be included in this. The risk that came with being able to watch was just too great for them. 

Cas stumbles and looks up at Crowley, and then at me, and then at the crown on the demon’s head. 

“Crowley. Why am I here? Where are Sam and Dean?”

“Alive and not here. I need to know if you can fix something for me.” Castiel frowns.

“Why would I even consider helping you?” I giggle and both of them look at me, surprised at the outburst from the blank faced person. Emotion has decided this moment would be a good time to return. Crowley scowls at the fact that he could have started having real fun if Cas had not appeared. Cas looks at me more closely. “Is that…?”

“Chew Toy. Yes. Can you fix her?” Crowley snaps and my soul once again flies out into his hand. Cas stares and then frowns, and then slowly smiles upon seeing my soul tinged with black. I can’t imagine it looks like anything less than an angsty teen who bleached their hair and frosted the tips a cliche ‘ebony’ in an attempt at being edgy.

“You broke your ‘toy’ and want me to fix it. Why should I?”

“I was hoping because you would be healing a soul. Don’t you in particular have a love affair with helping out poor innocent hopeless cases?”

“She is not innocent. At least that is what she believed, and-“

“Tortured then.”

Cas glares at the interruption and continues. 

“And from what I know of her she would consider this...just and poetic punishment, for both of you.” I’d laugh out loud if I could. It is true, this is truly poetic justice. Crowley glares at me in the palm of his hand, closing it and crushing me, putting pain into every fiber of my being. I remain silent, curious at his sudden lack of power over me, a being who just doesn’t care about their fate. After all, the things I’m still afraid of are boring and require him leaving me for eternity. Which is still a reprieve from him, and I’d eventually go insane and then it wouldn’t be punishment anymore. Every other fear either he, Hell, or this change, had destroyed. He’s too hands on to just leave me alone anyway.

Cas watches, as unconcerned with my pain as I am. “I see no reason to help even if I can.”

“Before we fight over such a thing, can you even fix her?” Cas regards me for a moment before replying, mildly interested.

“A tortured soul on its way to becoming a demon has never been brought to an angel before. So I do not know. I would have to try-“

“You’d have to touch her.” Cass tilts his head and stares at the odd statement. 

“Yes, I believe most healing requires some form of contact. Is that a problem?” Crowley mutters and looks at the body he had pulled me from. He can’t put me back or let Cas hold me because at the moment I have no qualms about breaking the NDA on my contract. I had held onto my last bit of caring to try to help Bobby, but now, I don’t care if my telling Cas gets him killed. It is just another thing I can do to piss Crowley off, to try to get him angry enough to kill me. And he doesn’t want that, because that means I win. And he is done losing on anyone’s terms but his own. He could put me back in the body and take my tongue, but Cas could always heal it, try to find out things.

Cas watches Crowley as he listens to me, face twisting in anger at my thoughts. 

“What is going on Crowley?” 

Crowley curses. He has scenes set out in his head for the fight and he wants, needs them, to go as planned for him to succeed. If he can't control me, that poses a problem. He needs me to empathize with others and care for them if I don’t care about myself anymore. 

Demons don't do that, and neither of us know what I'll be like as a demon. Even if he wanted to turn me into one and turn me back just this once, he might not have enough time. He can’t use someone else in my place, apparently, not if he wants the element of surprise. That is assuming I’ll even go along with this plan once I am normal again. Why would I? 

Crowley holds me up to him, a mouth and hollow blank eyes on a featureless face stare at me. He knows my thoughts, and he most definitely does not like them.

“Because I will rip your ability to create right out of your soul. I will leave you your memories of art, show you things you’ve made so you ache with want. I will return that ability you so pride yourself on and rip it out again, and again, and again, for eternity. Its absence made more painful each time I tear it from you. I will-”

“Crowley, can you not control-“ Crowley closes his hand and glares at the angel. The crunching of bones fills the air as he squeezes his hand tighter. He is in the middle of making a threat that I cannot decide whether I should be afraid of or not. He turns back to me with little concern for the angel. 

“I will never ask for your assistance in anything ever again and use you solely for my amusement, my addiction, my pleasure. I will return your humanity and make you watch as I use others’ ideas in your absence. And when they are used up you will watch as I kill them, letting them die like I will never let you. I will-“

“Crowley. I-“ Crowley glares at the angel who is growing annoyed with the disrespect and dismissal, leaking impotent rage in the enochian cuffs. I sit in the clawed grasp, still confused and trying to decide how I should feel about the threat. I honestly don’t know what would be left of me if he took my ability to create. A small orb of stress probably. Crowley remains unconcerned with my self examination and continues his conversation with what is probably a future meal.

“You will help me or I will revive Robert Singer on the spot and you will join him.” Cas looks up in confusion at the last statement. 

“I don’t-“ Crowley takes a third hand and draws a single razor sharp nail into the flesh of his stomach. The wound bleeds sluggishly until he slowly peels back the skin and fat and flesh to reveal a row of bars made of that bendy iron like cartilage.

“Crowley. While this display of self mutilation is disturbing I don’t see its purpose …” Crowley looks down smiling and looks back at Cas as he pulls the skin back further, illuminating the hungry jail cell. Light floods from lamps on the roof, hitting a half dissolved corpse, bones poking out, flannel falling apart, eyes dull. Cas stands unmoved but trepidatious until the light hits a familiar hat. Cas’s expression grows hard and his voice fades. He may not have known Bobby particularly well, but he was a friend, ally, and good man. He was also very dear to Sam and Dean.

“You were there when I made a promise; the boys leave me alone, I leave Robert alive.” As he talks he puts his flesh back in place, sending the corpse into shadow. His stomach quickly starts to repair itself and Cas casts angry glowing eyes at Crowley. 

“Where is his soul?”

“In one monstrous piece... for now.” The last bit of flesh is replaced and the outline of the hat vanishes behind red flesh stained further into crimson by blood; Crowley’s and his meal’s. “And if you help me, I won’t put it back into his body to live another few days.” 

“He...survived days in-“

“Well, being a werewolf probably helped-“ 

“He-...What did you do Crowley!?”

I watch as Cas winces while Crowley’s hand closes more, his telekinetic powers crushing him from afar as his other hand reaches out to hold him directly for a more tactile experience. All of Crowley’s hands are active; one holds me, another is healing his self inflicted stomach wound, the last two are dealing with Cas. One wraps around his middle while the other lets go of its telekinetic grasp to caress the angel’s chin. 

I watch this, sense it through my soul as I remember what Crowley had done to Robert. I wonder if the choice of a werewolf was more than just convenience and immediate torture. Had Crowley chosen that so Robert would last longer? Was it a sick parody of a joke about sex in bed? It probably went all the way back to his statement about fantasies, Robert ‘being inside him’ as the hinted at desire. Knowing Crowley there are at least five layers to this innuendo. 

“There is no shame in using something to enhance your performance Chew Toy.” There was another layer. I think at one time I’d find this witty, even sexy. Intellect was something I looked for at one point I think. Now I just feel… empty. 

“If I were not bound by these cuffs I-“ 

Even outside of Crowley, just floating in his hand, I can sense his plots and excitement. He regards the angel and his second mouth smiles cruelly. 

“Fine. We’ll fight. A practice round for a future bout I have planned. You win. You walk and I’ll put Robert back together outside of his current home. I win. I get everything. Your assistance. You. Robert. Chew Toy. A three course meal that I will enjoy very very slowly.” Cas stares. 

“And if I don’t agree?” Crowley smiles and lifts Cas up further, his second mouth opening wide. The tongue reaches out and licks Cas’s face, slathering it with saliva.

“I only get two thirds of what I want, and instead of trying to trick Sam, Dean….and Jack, I will just kill and eat them all. And most definitely not in that order. So...one more deal for old times sake? Or am I having wings tonight?”

It’s better than nothing, this deal. Cas has a chance with this, which is stupid. Of course Crowley craves everything in this form; fights, adrenaline, those are fun, and there is a very slim chance he would lose. 

However Cas shakes his head. 

“No. Not unless we change the conditions of a winning scenario. If you cannot die I cannot beat you. I say what would be a death blow should count.” Well at least people are starting to catch onto that. Oh, Casy boy was taking some lessons from Sam in law and loopholes. Crowley frowns but his smile quickly returns. 

“Three hits, fencing rules.” He looks at me and smiles. Right, I used to fence, so if I remember right that meant depending on the blade and format certain hits would count and others wouldn’t. Would Cas know that?”

“Death blows only. I am a trained warrior, I will not limit my ability by confining my skills to-“

“Fine. Death blows only. But first.” He raises me up and drops me into his second mouth. I land with a slight bounce and float, my light illuminating the corpse in front of me. Slowly being eaten away by acid and smoke, digested and dissolved. I look at the corpse and the meat and feel a strange twinge, and a snap. I’m unsure what it means, but have no time to reflect as Crowley takes a moment to rearrange my location, away from Robert’s body and the other hungry red jail that tears souls apart. I am alone in this cell, no distractions. So I try to figure out what that snap was but I am impeded by my anger at being denied a chance to get my own hands bloody or food in my belly. I pause again, trying to remember if this is normal. And remember that I have no stomach.

Crowley looks at Cas and snaps, the handcuffs vanishing as he drops the angel unceremoniously. Cas lands on his feet and looks up at the monstrosity in front of him. He holds out his hand and waits. 

“I require a weapon.”

“And I need to hear those four little words.” Cas sighs, but acquiesces. 

“We have a deal.” Crowley nods and with a snap an angel blade appears in Cas’s hand. There isn’t a second to think. As soon as the blade appears Cas lunges forward, and Crowley barely steps back in time, still getting a deep cut in his leg for his trouble. Crowley doesn’t speak. There will be no banter during this fight. Not until Crowley thinks it is absolutely necessary to make the angel mess up. This is a fight to be savored. Both of these men have lifetimes worth of experience, and Cas has more than Crowley. This is a fight Crowley could lose if he isn’t careful, not that it matters, he had worded that deal carefully, as always. 

Simple deals always have implications attached, things that a decent person would assume. Crowley is not a decent person. If you sold your soul for money, but didn’t stipulate that you wanted to live to use it and were killed by a mugger three days later, that was your own fault. So if he said he would let Robert out and give him a body, he would. But he didn’t say he would free him…

Crowley slashes downward with a clawed hand and Cas dodges, and then ducks under the second coming for him. He misses the third, which he deemed not as important to dodge perhaps. It’s a backhand, but the double edged claws slice his face and a line of red appears on his cheek. Fighting something with four arms will take a bit of getting used too. Still he ignores the cut and dives for Crowley, dodging another swipe and rolling between the tall legs. He tries to stab upward but is kicked aside and the leg slams down, the three points intent on spearing him through. Cas turns at the last moment managing to avoid most of the points, only the leftmost one impaling his right shoulder. Cas doesn’t cry out, merely stabs up and to the right with the sword attempting to impale the leg. Sparks fly as the sword hits the metal like bone. He struggles to free himself but there is just enough muscle around the spear-like appendage in his shoulder to make ripping free a long arduous task. Crowley doesn’t laugh or speak; he just leans over with one long nail pointed towards Cas’s heart. The nail is about to pierce flesh when Cas stops struggling and throws the angle blade up. 

Crowley pauses, the blade embedded in his chest. Cas coughs, blood staining his teeth. 

“Well, you’re not getting that back.” Says Crowley as he continues to put his weight on that one nail, pushing it into Cas’s chest. 

“You...you’re supposed to reset between bouts.” Cas coughs out as the nail slides in. 

“You said no fencing rules, just three death blows. So...one.” Crowley takes another arm and points a finger at the stomach, slowly pushing that in as the angel beneath him struggles to free himself. “Two.” Cas grunts but holds back screams, intent on getting away and nothing else. With a third arm Crowley pulls the blade from his own chest and slowly levels it at Cas’s neck. “Thre-“

Cas yells out, white light flashing from his eyes. Pressure starts to rise and the air around Castiel burns as his wings begin to fizzle into view. 

A pure demon touching an angel’s wings is going to hurt no matter how powerful the demon in question. Crowley’s fingers burn with the full force of heaven as Cas starts to manifest their remnants and Crowley recoils. The angel blade falls to the ground and Cas catches it, slamming it between the three prongs of the foot embedded in his shoulder and twisting the blade. 

Crowley screams; the air fills with the sound of real pain and anger as a bit of his foot is broken off. Castiel rolls away, the bony spear still in his shoulder as he stands. Crowley glares, his second mouth still screaming, and flicks one of his hands. Castiel flies into the wall hard enough to crack it as Crowley takes the reprieve to examine his foot. 

It isn’t healing fast enough for him, after all a whole piece is missing. He exhales quickly and slowly starts to walk toward the angel, carefully balancing his weight, fire in his eyes. I cannot see it, but I can feel his rage. It boils and consumes me in red roiling smoke that whips about, flinging me around my small prison. The only way I know what is happening because Crowley is letting me. Perhaps he is so used to doing it that it is second nature, perhaps he is being nice and letting me see, perhaps he is being cruel. I do not know, but I am happy to not be in the metaphorical dark.

I watch as Castiel's eyes flare and his wings finally come into this reality. They stretch and put off scalding invisible heat, energy, that hurts to get near. They are still blackened and missing many feathers, but they feel powerful, they exude it. Crowley doesn’t care anymore. They burned him once, set him on fire. Perhaps they would do so here; he is willing to take a few burns to win this fight. 

Castiel pushes against Crowley’s mental hold and cracks it, falling inches closer to the floor. Crowley allows him to drop the rest and leaps forward breaking his slow gate as Castiel hits the ground. The sword flashes forward and Crowley parries with one of his larger arms, catching the blade in the hole of his forearm.

Both of his larger forearms lack flesh except for what covers the bones. By all rights the hands there shouldn’t work, they lack the musculature needed for any articulation, but what does that matter when you’re a being born from pain and magic?

Crowley flicks his wrist and the blade goes flying, clattering against the red stone. There is a tense second of inaction and then Crowley reaches toward Castiel as Castiel closes his wings before him with the intent to burn the demon. Two hands grab for the angel but close on a wing instead. As his hands touch the angelic remnants they burn and he tenses for a second. 

That is all Cas needs and he dives between Crowley’s legs, intent on reaching the blade. Crowley however holds fast to the wing despite his burning and igniting flesh. Cas jerks to a stop and Crowley grins, reaching for the escaping angel with eager anticipation. Cas does the only thing left available to him, he punches straight up. 

The resulting pain is immense and shoots through every single one of Crowley’s stomachs, and therefore me, on its way to his brain. I had fortunately not experienced this pain yet despite having inhabited a male body on occasion for many centuries. It’s indescribable and sharp, quickly building to a point that it can’t be understood except in relation to the aching agony around it. Nausea follows and Crowley lets go of the wing to clutch his stomach. The pain, whether he can turn that into pleasure, doesn’t matter. The fact that it hurts at all, doesn’t matter. What matters is he does not want to lose Any of his meals, flesh or otherwise. He manages to keep us all down and turns toward Cas.

“If you wanted to touch me there, you could have just-“ he turns to find the blade plunging into his belly. He gasps, nearly losing control of the nausea again, but quickly decides the best way to prevent anything from coming up, is to put something else down. He leans over, attempting to get the angel before him into his second mouth, but Cas pulls the blade out and dodges to the right. However, it is not far enough. 

There is a scream as Crowley wrenches up with a mouthful of bone, sinew, and a few feathers. The few feathers burn for a brief moment, but now that they are no longer attached to the angel they pose less of a problem. The half of the wing still attached is jagged with broken bones. It weeps red onto burnt black flesh in a far more demonic image than befits the angel it's attached to. Crowley doesn’t stop to ponder it, he leaves his second mouth to chew half a wing while he reaches out for the angel with red tinged claws. Cas quickly attempts to stab Crowley again, but only gets a glancing blow in his grogginess due to the intense pain of losing a wing. 

“Dragoness did say angel feathers get stuck in your throat but I’m willing to chance that for you.” Cas’s face shows more emotion than I’ve ever seen as the wing slips out of sight with a single swallow. Crowley snaps and Castiel freezes in place. It’s only for a few seconds but it is all Crowley needs to grab the angle by the shoulders with all four arms and quickly lean down again with an open mouth. He straightens up and like a bird swallowing a fish tries to get the struggling angel down, the ½ and full wing proving to be a bit of an obstacle. Castiel is attempting to stab Crowley’s throat with no luck, there isn’t enough space, just as there isn’t enough space for the wings. Crowley grabs Castiel by the ankles and pulls him out, his teeth raking cruelly against the beautiful tan flesh of the Indian man Cas inhabits. The blade is plunged into the center of Crowley’s throat, and is ignored as he reaches for the other wing. His hand burns briefly before he rips the wing out as Castiel screams in agony. Crowley grabs the blade with another hand and pulls it out of his throat, banishing it while throwing the wing to the side. Crowley smiles cruelly while he waits for his throat to heal so he can speak. 

“Too little too late. And now I don’t just get the wings, I get the whole bird.”

“I...got three blows...Crowley.”

“After you were in my mouth, where I could have crushed you. So. Be a good ostrich and let me help you bury your head like a flightless bird should. If you’re good I’ll drop your wing down before I kill you so you can see it one last time.” Cas’s hands reach out weakly to brace himself on either side of the mouth, attempting to keep him above the razor sharp teeth. Crowley tuts and shakes his head. “We had a deal Cas. Don’t be like the Winchesters and renege.”

“You are trying...to eat me.” Says the angel as he is pushed closer to the open mouth and tongue, which is already licking Cas’s face greedily. 

“No. There is no try.” Cas blinks.

“Is that a... reference?” Crowley pauses for a moment at the comment. 

“ I suppose it is. I’m surprised you recognized it. Good for you.” And Crowley pushes the angel down. 

The trenchcoat is ripped to shreds by the teeth as Crowley swallows. He sends every feeling into me; every struggle, every twist, every movement as the angel slides down, choking Crowley as Cas frantically claws at the inside of the throat in an attempt to stop his descent. His feet kick up past the second mouth towards Crowley’s head, rubbing and pushing the sensitive flesh as Cas tries to not slip downward. He is failing against Crowley’s continuous attempts to swallow him, even an inter dimensional throat is not that long after all, but he is not failing fast enough for Crowley. 

“Your trench coat is revolting. I’m not fond of the taste of cheap cloth and failure so go down like a good whore already. You’ve been the Winchester’s little slut for long enough, it shouldn’t be hard to switch pimps so… Go. Down.” He says, his voice quiet and gurgling with his lower throat full. Crowley snaps to freeze his meal, and while the movement stops, it stops completely. The angel is stuck. 

Crowley frowns then hits his chest and coughs, swallowing again, heavily, to push his newest prisoner down. He succeeds with the second swallow of air and his muscles push the angel into the topmost prison. The paralysis lifts and the brief frantic attempt at escape fills Crowley with amusement as he snaps a glass of water into existence. Crowley sighs as he rinses his mouths out, tired but satisfied with the outcome. I am just curious about how Cas is supposed to fix me from there, from inside. It’s like the most grotesque homage to a tardis possible. 

“Why do you think I laughed so hard when Padalecki couldn’t fit inside the replica? There was more than one metaphor there darling.” Crowley takes another deep breath and sits, leaning against a wall, both smaller arms folded across his stomach. He reaches for the wing with the other arm and with the remaining hand snaps. Suddenly I am next to another being, providing a dim light for him to observe his grave with. 

Castiel looks haggard. Flesh ripped but quickly healing…. Except for the wings. Bones stick out, many broken in half on one side, missing on the other. They glow for a moment before fading from view. Cas reaches out and holds me, the near soul turned demon. His face illuminated by my light I can see his defiance, curiosity, and anger. It doesn’t interest me. Now close to another being besides Crowley I feel something new. 

I’m hungry. Not just empty, so empty it aches. Please. Feed me or kill me Cas. 

“I can’t kill you, and souls do not eat. You are not hungry, you are mistaken in your assessment of your feelings.” Our whole world moves as Crowley takes a big breath. The space here is larger than last time, it seems to change, always just a bit too big to be filled, no matter how much was here. The curse of the king. 

“The curse?” He can never be satisfied, not with food of any kind. Except for his weird fourth stomach, the curse didn’t cover that. He’ll still be hungry for other things, but one stomach can be satisfied, if not full. Although I don’t think I’ve ever seen him be ‘sated’ in any way, even there.

A voice rumbles around us as Crowley speaks. 

“Get on with it Castiel. We have a deal.”

“And if I decide I am not as honorable as you?” I can feel Crowley’s glee as the snap resounds even through layers of skin and muscle. Beside us there is a gasp before the form moves, quickly starting to heal itself. Bobby sits up and looks around frantically. With my soul as light he can see the angel across from him. This...place for the first time. This interdimensional pocket of pain and hunger is a prison. Bars of cartilage surround us on all sides except the top.

“Cas? Whatr’ you… no. You idjit… Why?” 

“Apparently I am supposed to be healing Rebecca, and then sit back and be digested.” Bobby blinks, ignoring the pain he must feel from merely existing in this place as he looks at Cas. He shakes his head then gazes around at the cell he probably could barely see before with the meager light from the stomach wounds. Red stretchy flesh covers the outside of the bars. It is thin, and separate from whatever is outside, because we can see the muscles move with each breath. The one side gets smaller and smaller, sloping up from the floor at near very steeply, couldn’t be less than 80 degrees. It comes down quickly from the top at a near 50 degree angle, you could barely get two hands on top of each other where they meet. I believe all the other prisons lay beneath that stretch of bars going up at 80 degrees, that slight top bit what Cas saw Bobby through earlier. Red mist swirls around every inch of the nearly 4 foot cell, and liquid fills it at the bottom up to at least an inch. After a sigh Bobby fixes his gaze on me. I can hear the concern in his voice at my appearance, which I still have not seen.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“I feel like we have more pressing matters Robert, like getting out of here.”

“I tried. There is no out here. And trust me, you don’t wanna try.” Cas’s confused expression matches the emotions I feel and he is about to ask why when the world moves once more. Crowley is laughing. Cooler air floods the area as slits filled with light suddenly give direction to the world. Crowley once again is mutilating his own body to provide air to his prisoner. Cas immediately reaches through the bars to rip at the flesh, pulling down and rending it painfully. The world shifts again as Crowley moves, putting the sky into view. It is filled with the amount of stars you only see in sparsely populated areas shining through the tears in flesh as he lies down on his back. The beings that still have flesh fall against the bars at the back in a tangle of limbs and acid as Crowley just breathes slowly and contentedly. 

“You’re going to have to try a bit harder than that featherless boy.”

“I really wouldn’t...featherless?” At Bobby's comment Cas pauses his attempt to right himself and sorrow fills his face as he slowly looks to the wing, torn and broken, lying in the prison with them. I can feel the pleasure ripple through Crowley at their dismay. The slight shifting movement followed by chewing sounds that indicate his actions with the remaining wing. A few feathers coated in spit fall as the prison compresses at the top with each swallow. Bobby looks at Cas, both men filled with unhappy emotions; loss and pity and sorrow permeate existence. Crowley sighs once again, the prison filling with red mist as their emotions cause his violent sin to manifest more for him to enjoy, digest, eat.

“I am so sorry Cas, I-“

“Later Bobby. We don’t have time.”

“You’re wrong, we could have a goddamned long time, but-“

“Jack, Sam, and Dean, do not.” Castiel reaches for the bars, holds one in each hand, and pulls. I watch in amusement as the bars bend painfully, but do not break. 

“Cas, I wouldn’t-“ there is the slightest of cracks from the cartilage, not a break but the crack of movement, a painful precursor to something worse. 

“I almost-“ Cas’s words are interrupted by a big breath and a slow, loud moan. The world vibrates with the sound, one that is decidedly not unhappy. A very slight repetitive motion can be felt as one of Crowley’s arms starts to move. Both men are silent as I mentally cackle. Cas looks at me, feeling my amusement at Crowley’s very simple plan to make them both too uncomfortable to attempt escape. “Is he…?” 

Perhaps he is, perhaps he isn’t, it doesn’t matter, just the fact that he could be is enough to make both men shudder. Crowley is keeping me in the dark as well, a wonderful mystery of uncomfortable situations and social awkwardness. If I don’t know, I can’t tell Cas. 

“What do you think?...” Bobby pauses at Cas’s expression of confusion at Crowley’s actions. “You never rubbed-“

“No.”

“Not even when you were huma-”

“Boys, boys. Why’d you stop your escape attempts? They were just starting to feel interesting.” Cas looks at his hands on the two bars and begins to pull again much to Bobby’s surprise. The motion outside increases in speed. 

“Cas, unless you’re firing up your angel mojo, he ain’t gonna feel that as pain.”

“Pain and pleasure are secondary concerns when it comes to escape.”

“Well, yeah, but-“

There is a snap and though nothing seemingly happens Crowley mentally lets me know that he just opened all the doors. 

“Cas, I can heal any wound you make from in there as fast or as slow as I want. So, if you insist on continuing, I will call up some friends for a good time. And after we are covered in all sorts of fluids your new accommodations will become very crowded. If you don’t mind sloppy seconds I could even send one down alive.” Bobby’s disgust makes itself known as the red mist grows with Crowley’s thoughts of the sin and torture. I feel them, they feel good. The red mist, acidic and burning the other two, feels like home to me. Bobby starts and Cas stares at me.

“What is happening to her? Why is she putting out black smoke?”

“She is turning into a demon. She has been beside him for centuries, tortured for centuries. Forced to participate in or watch horror after horror, for centuries. Each new sin she sees now pushes her towards becoming a creature of hell. Humans turn into demons because it is the only way to survive such an experience, and that is what humans do, survive.”

Yup. Like people who survived reaver attacks in Firefly. Crowley chuckles at the thought and Cas stares, remembering knowledge imparted to him by Metatron. 

Bobby is starting to sweat with the effort of ignoring the pain, the acid around his legs and the mist everywhere else eating at every bit of him it touches. Cas is near unconsciously healing himself and is not reacting, except to frown sadly at Bobby’s pain. 

“Then why not let her? Sounds like she’d be better off. You could kill her then.”

No! No. I don’t want to be asleep there for eternity! I think… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. 

“It’s cute, isn’t it, that she thinks I would let her escape to the Empty.” Cas blinks at Crowley’s comment. He looks at my floating form briefly then he grabs me and just listens. I exude thoughts for a moment before he starts pulling information out of me, digging for specific things or memories. I happily watch him damn himself with knowledge. It’s not like I can prevent it, a professional interrogator has nothing on Castiel. He holds me and Bobby watches Cas’s expressions change drastically, well as drastically as Cas’s expressions ever change. Cas looks up after a minute or two, as if he could see Crowley’s face by looking hard enough.

“That is why you want me to heal her. Not just because you want your toy, or because you have plans for her...but because if she dies or becomes a demon, she wins.”

“How in the hell is that winning?” Asks Bobby amidst the silence and complete cessation of movement from Crowley.

“Because, he put a lot of work into learning how to manipulate her and train her. Her death, or her complete change of personality as a demon, would render all that useless. She is completely fine with her or other’s deaths right now. It is extraordinarily difficult to manipulate anyone when they care for nothing. She-” He pauses and listens as he pulls another piece of information from me, and goes silent.

He knows about the contracts and how they work but brushes it aside. It is of no use now, not unless he could get that information to Jack. That would require prayer, and in Hell, prayers don’t get out. Even if we are in just a tiny piece brought to earth, prayers don’t work in Hell, and they definitely wouldn’t work in this prison. Probably.

The wing falls and hits Bobby and Cas on their heads as Crowley swallows and sits up. He’s grown bored with waiting, I can tell.

“Cas, you know the deal. I won. Heal her or I’ll put Jackie next to you.”

“You can’t touch the kid, he’s far more powerful than you’ll ever be you red bag of-”

“You’re right Robert. He is far more powerful than me. He does however have two very fatal flaws. He’s not very smart, and he is a very good person. Both make him very easy to manipulate.”

It’s true. That’s why people like reading stories where the hero wins, because in all reasonable situations, they should not. At least they shouldn’t and come out the same as they went in, pure and good. There is silence as both men contemplate the situation, silence which Crowley breaks.

“So, are you going to keep your deal, or am I going to have to play dirty?”

“You weren’t before? Right princess.”

“Oh, I am honoring our deal as any demon does, continue to irk me and I will roll you in the mud until you suffocate from the depravity you find in Hell’s gutters. Then I will bring you back up to earth and show you how easily that depravity is brought with me. And Then, it will only get worse, because I haven’t even begun to describe what I will do To you. So, Castiel, do I need to continue to describe all the things that you Know are running through my mind, things you are most likely being told by my pet in your hand?”

Castiel looks at me, he is indeed getting an idea of what I believe Crowley would do, will do, from me. I’ve been around him enough, written my own villains enough, been corrupted myself enough to know the future here. To make hundreds of correlations from the plans I know, what he’s said, and what he Likes, to rain down a story of horror on the angel’s mind. He remains unphased but looks at Bobby across from him in the dim light. 

He is breathing slowly and heavily, hands against the cage, keeping as much of himself out of the acid as possible. It doesn’t hurt too much, it is only stomach acid after all, but it stings. It slowly slowly eats away at skin, and cloth, and flesh, and bone. His skin is red, irritated and sensitive, nothing too much past that...yet. Above the surface of the caustic liquid the red mist licks at flesh, makes it hard to breathe, cruelly caresses them both. Death will be slow here, minimum of two days like before, possibly longer. Cas swallows and looks at me.

“I am sorry.” He holds me tighter and pressure begins to fill me.

“Ah, leave some of her lovely black fringe please.” Cas looks upward in annoyance but continues. The pressure builds again, encompassing everything around me and pushing in painfully. I can feel it pulling at me too, the complete opposite sensations make me swim in confusion. It comes at me hard and I feel myself crack as the energy permeates me. It feels bitter. I hate it.

I try to change how it feels, how I think of it, anything to get that earthy taste of arugula and okra out of my every facet. It all fails. I just wish I could take this energy and...change it. It digs deeper and deeper, covering and inching its way into every part of me. I have never felt anything like this, it doesn’t hurt, it’s just like pressure building from an airplane, or muscles so tense they are causing your ears to pop. I hate it. Loathe it. Despise it with every fiber of my being. I seethe and rage at it, ready to destroy whatever it takes to get rid of this ...and something snaps. 

Perhaps it’s me succeeding in changing how I feel about it. Perhaps it’s Cas breaching some part of my soul. Either way, suddenly everything is sweet. I can almost actually taste it, it's so prevalent. I reach out hungrily towards it, pulling it so it comes faster. The taste of honeysuckle, and summer, and memories. The taste of friends and food and everything I haven’t had in what feels like eons. The taste of solitude with one's thoughts. The taste of my own actions, good or bad, done under my own will. I want it. The ability to damn or save myself or others. The ability to Feel from experiences I initiate. The ability to parse my own memories without prying eyes. I need it. It feels like chocolate on a tongue I don’t have. I pull at it. And suddenly it stops. I reach out and grab at the fleeing fleeting feelings and tastes as best as something with no body can and I hear a grunt.

“What? Is it not working?” I am broken out of myself by Bobby’s voice, and the energy flies away out of my grasp.

“No...She… I can’t really describe it except...She bit me.” 

“What? That, doesn’ make sense.” The whole prison shakes again as Crowley laughs. Castiel scowls.

“This is not a laughing matter, I was putting my power into her, my grace, and she started taking it.”

“I believe that is what is supposed to happen when you put your energy into something, it either rejects it, or takes it ostrich.” I can feel Crowley’s amusement, I don’t really care one way or another, I just want Cas to do whatever he was doing again. I ache for it like I’ve never ached for something before. Not sex. Not blood or violence. Not food or drink. Not even the ability to draw what’s in my head. I could live without this, but I don’t want to. I will do whatever Cas or Crowley want to get that feeling again. I think it as loudly as I can.  
I am ignored. Crowley doesn’t want me like this, and Cas has bigger things to worry about than my appetite. 

“No Crowley, it wasn’t healing her, she was eating it.” As this I can feel his amusement die.

“What.”

“That’s not possible.” Cas looks at Bobby and sighs.

“That seems to be a theme.” Says Cas as he glares at me.

“So you can’t heal her?” Cas takes a deep unneeded breath and swallows.

“I don’t know.”

“This may be part of it, continue.”

“I don-”

“Was I unclear?” 

“Listen, if-” Pain shatters everything. Crushing acidic burning pain. Through my own I can feel the other’s agony as well, and it feels like a breath of fresh air. The pain stops immediately and Crowley curses. The light in the prison is dimmer, and from Cas’s thoughts I can tell I am getting worse, darker.

“If I wanted opinions from my food I’d get candy hearts. Shut up and heal her.” Cas swallows his fury and with a tight lip and a stern face tries again. I happily allow it, the sweetness, the relief, the memory of innocence permeates me and I take it. I pull on it and once again hear a grunt, but this time it doesn’t stop. I greedily take more, grasping at the faint memory of what I was and-

“Cas stop.” I near scream in frustration as the energy is taken once more, feeling on the cusp of something. Freedom, a change, orgasm! I don't know, but it’s the brink of Something. I feel eyes on me, and seethe silently, wishing I had a body to do…. Anything with. They sit in silence regarding me like some animal at a zoo they have never seen before. An exotic ‘new’ soul. A Thing. Not a person. I feel no concern from anyone about me right now anymore, just fear and curiosity. 

“If I had eyes in my stomach I wouldn’t have to ask this, but why have you stopped? Again?”

“Let us out princess and you won’t have to ask.”

“And risk you escaping? No, I’ll keep you nestled right there. This is the best prison I have for two of the six most escape prone beings I know. It’s one of the reasons you’re there, and trust me, you don’t want to know the others. So…” The world tilts again as Crowley stands, causing a tangle of limbs and acid once again. I am thrown against walls and skin and cloth and bone as he stretches. “This isn’t just for pleasure or torture, this is so I can keep an eye on you for the rest of your lives.”

“Yeah, the entire remaining hours.” Crowley ignores the comment from Robert and starts some project that he is now Not letting me see. 

“So. What… is happening?” The two cell mates sit in silence for a second then Robert picks me up. I lash out, angry at him for interrupting my experience. He drops me immediately and shakes his hands then looks at Cas. Cas picks me up once more, but holds me in his lap, on the trench coat. 

“She’s got some of your smoke Crowley.”

“Pardon?”

“She’s turnin a redish black you idjit.” I’m what? The movement stops as Crowley freezes. 

“She’s what? That isn’t possible.”

“Crowley, what you’ve done to her, isn’t exactly normal. You’ve kept a soul in your smoke or body consistently for 500 years and tortured it. Whatever comes of that... I doubt it’s going to be a normal demon.” Well, it makes sense after what happened to all those little soul bits, turning red, turning into him. 

Crowley curses. Then curses again. Then strings together curses in what I can only assume is archaic Scottish Gaelic. He is pissed. He paces a moment, the clicking of his healed three pronged feet on the stone audible even here. 

“Can you fix her?”

“If she continues to devour the energy I put in, no.” Crowley grumbles and curses again at Cas’s comment. I, we, can feel his pacing increase in speed. 

“Chew toy. Stop eating the angel.” You first. I’m hungry and he tastes like apricots. 

More curses fill the air. 

“I...taste like apricots?” Dried apricots are amazing Cas. If you give me more, maybe it’ll change. C’mon Cas, what’s the worst that could happen? “You become more of a danger than Crowley.” Right, because that’s possible. “He has control and rules, we have no idea what you would be.” Cas, c’mon. Just a bit more? Or hand me to Bobby so it’s less of a temptation while we wait at least. “Your hunger does not affect me in the lea-“ I reach out with all my might and try to draw the energy I want from him. I’m rewarded with a grunt, and a mild chuckle from Crowley. As unhappy as he is with me, proving the angel wrong always pleases him. Cas scowls and tosses me to Bobby while Crowley paces and thinks. Bobby catches me tentatively but holds on when I don’t ‘bite’ again. I have other plans. I want to see if I can slowly pull energy from him. It’s faint, but it’s there, and I’m so hungry for more of what Cas gave me I’ll try anything. I start immediately. 

Nobody knows what to do, well I do, but it’s not exactly what everyone else wants. I pull at the energy Bobby is exuding and it feels like a meager start, something I want but can barely taste. I siphon all the latent energy far too quickly. I’m not surprised he doesn’t have much considering what he’s dealing with but I’m still disappointed. I slowly, so very slowly reach farther. I can see the light dim in the prison as I push energy into Bobby through his hands; my hungry hooks made of light. I can feel him, he burns brightly despite his monstrous transformation, despite the torture, despite his situation. He burns brightly and it makes me want it. I hook myself into the light I feel and pull so slowly. Painfully slowly. I have less patience than Crowley but if I don’t exert it now I will be found out. Crowley is distracted, pondering my fate; if I can get deep enough, just a taste, a bite, one just one please. 

I feel it pull into me, one more tug and it flows like a small rivulet. Like tasting water after a long long run. I relax and think of nothing, trying to make sure Bobby doesn’t notice my plan. If he can take a moment to listen to me through his pain I could be betrayed by a stray thought of pleasure on my part. I sit in silence, just letting my work produce results. 

“So, what would you suggest?” Crowley’s voice rumbles throughout the world and his question hangs as I happily drink away. 

“I dunno Crowley, I’d jest let her go demon. You turned me inta a fucking wolf.”

“She may not be as useful to Crowley as a demon Bobby.”

“Well you don’t know till you know Cas. I, phew, it’s gettin hard to breathe. I need air.” I can feel Crowley roll his eyes but a single razor sharp nail slides into view and lengthens the cut. I doubt that was what was causing his trouble. We can suddenly see that Crowley has not just been pacing. The bodies from before have been collected. None are inhabitable any more, they are useless to other demons as vessels. Crowley has been carefully cutting them out of their clothing with his long nails and setting the rags to the side. I know what he’s doing, we all know what he’s doing. He goes for the head with the apple first; slicing it off easily with a single finger he picks it up and it vanishes from sight. The apple falls into the prison seconds later. Whole except for a single tooth stuck in it.

“Brain food Robert. I need you to come up with ideas. Unless you’d prefer the actual brain?”

“I’m good Crowley. But thank you So much for your hospitality.” Crowley laughs at the venom laced sarcasm. 

“Pardon me. I think I know what you’d prefer.” We see the long arms and claws go to work on one of the bodies again, craving away at the torso. 

“No.” 

“Why Robert, I wouldn’t be so cruel as to let you pass without knowing this joy.” The claws return to view red and dripping, holding a human heart.

“No.” 

“Crowley, don’t-“ 

Crowley doesn’t respond to his prisoners’ pleas, he just brings the heart up to his stomach within view of the newly turned werewolf. 

“Doesn’t it smell nice Robert?” All eyes, or lack thereof, are on the red bloody piece of meat in the red bloody clawed hand. I can feel Rogert’s breathing quicken, coming in gulps as he fights instincts he didn’t have until a few days ago. Fights the smell. Fights temptation. He reaches out, swallows, and turns away, not realizing he is still reaching out weakly. 

“C’mon Robert, I know you want-“

“Stop it. Crowley, there is no point to this.”

“Of course not Cas, that’s why it’s fun. I mean, there are a few reasons, but you don’t want to hear them.” 

Robert meanwhile is looking away, grim faced and determined, I can feel his struggle and it is euphoric. It’ll be even better when he fails. The energy I’m slowly sapping from him will run dry soon, he’s tired, that heart will provide him some. I silently urge him to take it. Just a taste, like me, it can’t hurt. Take the apple from the snake Robert. 

My urging works apparently because he curses and glances at the bleeding organ. 

“Balls.” He looks at the heart and then at Cas, and then at the heart. His eyes flash and his teeth sharpen. “Balls. Fuck…BALLS! Fuckin Gimme That!” 

He reaches out through the bars and Crowley happily offers the weeping heart to his prisoner. 

“Bobby, you-“ There is a snap and Cas freezes again for a brief moment. As usual, a moment is all it takes. A moment that lasts forever as Robert takes that first bite. 

It’s sweet, for him and me. His energy has run out. That first bite of his is in tandem with my first taste of his soul.

And Robert screams. 

The scream resonates and both Crowley and Cas are startled. Free from his telepathic prison Cas reaches out for Robert and shakes him. The attempt at gaining attention does nothing as Robert drops the heart and claws at the other hand that holds me. His frantic attempts draw lines of blood that slowly heal in his fervor. Cas quickly understands that I am somehow the cause of this and goes to pull me away. He grabs onto me and attempts to wrench me off, but I’m rather entrenched.

“Release him!” I laugh and send out hooks of now much greyer light into Cas, hoping to be rewarded with that sweet memory feeling from earlier. I get it, briefly, and I drink it in greedily for a moment before he smartly pulls away. I laugh again and continue my leeching of Robert, happy to glut myself on that. I felt so empty, he’s giving me some semblance of company, of fullness. I know it will be temporary, because he might die if I do this, but perhaps he-

There is a snap and I’m suddenly outside, held in a red hand, a familiar screen famous face glaring at me with red eyes. 

“What, are you doing?” Crowley’s voice is hard and sharp, filled with furious contempt. He knows exactly what I’m doing. He knows exactly what I’m Feeling. I was born in him, his smoke a womb. I am like him. “That remains to be seen. Either way. He. Is. Mine.” Aww did the hyena steal some of the lion’s meal from under its nose? He squeezes and pain and red smoke leak out of me, mixing with the black and whites that reveal my soul as a tainted facsimile of my previous self. It barely hurts anymore and I sit in his hand, inert. I know he can do better than that. Of course he can, but it’s not enough to turn me into a demon soon enough to change me back. He pauses and a smile crosses his face. 

“You’re hungry. Fine. Eat.” I pause at the comment, the complete 180. I can feel his glee, sudden and intense, and it concerns me. What plot does he have now? He looks at his other hand holding the head and with a slight smile stuffs my soul into its mouth. “Strap in tight now, I’ve never been a smooth ride.” 

The entire head is popped into the second mouth and chewed. Crunched into bits. Bone, meat, hair, brain, me. All masticated by razor sharp teeth. It doesn’t hurt me much, not anymore, but it infuriates me. It’s insulting. It shows me what I could be doing, should be doing. I’m so hungry, it’s not fair. It’s maddening to be surrounded by food and unable to eat, even if this food didn’t exactly look appetizing. Actually it looks really gross. Still, if possible I’m more hungry by the time he finally swallows. 

I fall back down and both Cas and Robert back away from the mess of light and meat. Robert is panting and looking concerned, while Cas is of course blank faced. 

“Heal her Cas.” Cas looks at the prison angrily. 

“I can’t. She just eats whatever I give, it’s bringing her close to becoming a demon, not farther.”

“It’s no big loss to me if you lose your grace. I’ve already had grace before, too saccharine for me. I’ll make do with your soul.” 

“And what about wanting some of her to be demon still?” There is a pause. Crowley snaps and the air shifts. Robert’s mouth is gagged and suddenly he looks around frantically, as if surprised and concerned. Cas is nowhere to be seen, but I can hear a crunching sound outside that tells me Crowley is leaning on him with all his weight. 

“You’re right. But I know her buttons. Chew Toy. Have some wolf.” There is a snap and I’m in Robert's hand suddenly. I’m cautious, he tries to fling me off but I appear to be stuck. I am concerned with other things anyway. Crowley had been furious moments ago about me eating him, and now I was being told to? No. I think I can see his plan. I...I don’t think I want to eat my old friend, if only because Crowley wants me to, which can’t be good. 

“Chew Toy. I know what you’re feeling. It will get worse either way. One is just painful.” I know he’s right. I’m so hungry, I feel so empty. The more I eat the closer I get to feeling full but it always stretches farther away. The more I eat the more I need to eat, the hungrier I get. The less I eat...the more it seems to ache. ...Have I inherited his curse?

There is a scream and I am startled out of my self reflection. I had seeped my way into Robert without even noticing, taken a bite. I wrench away but the taste of fresh water and relief is there...and… and... I can’t let it go. 

I pull with all my might and Robert screams again. I hesitate for a brief moment, the scream sounds odd. Perhaps a memory of this being wrong, I think I- Crowley pushes me forward and suddenly the scream is music to my ears. I pull harder; enjoying the feel of fresh energy, the promise of feeling full.

The energy feels slightly different and I try to examine it for a moment but the act of feeling and pulling is too all encompassing for me to focus on anything else for long. I pull, for what seems ages, the energy flowing. I feel gorged and bloated at some points but always somehow still empty, alone. The moment I almost feel full, more space appears and the need increases. I hate it. It’s so akin to drawing a hand over and over and over; not knowing why it looks wrong, knowing you need help but not knowing what to ask for. Crowley knows the answers though. I don’t want Crowley to have the answers. I just want to eat, it feels so good. I want to eat, and draw, and fuck, and eat and... No... I don’t. I want this to be over, this hunger, I want to die, or… or eat. So good. I want… No. I ... 

The energy stops suddenly and there is silence. The screams are gone. Robert is dead. Truly dead. And I had killed him. And it was… amazing. 

“It is, isn’t it?” That...that’s what destroying a soul feels like? “No. It feels better. Your sloppy meal doesn’t compare with what I do. Of course, it’s fun on occasion to get messy.” There is the sound of struggling as Crowley stands and moves about. A jolt of pain rips through him and the movement stops as a grunt and then a yell permeates the cell. 

“Well, if you’re so eager to stick something in, it can go down first.” He leans back quickly and above is a snap then sucking sound. It stops as Crowley swallows, and moments later beside me lands an arm; the bloody shredded tan sleeve adorning it is very familiar. In its hand is a broken tooth, razor sharp and snapped in half. A body slams beside me seconds later and as Cas looks at the unmoving form of Robert holding me in his hand we are plunged into darkness. The stomach wounds are healing; fresh air no longer needed for just an angel and a soul. 

“Bobby. Bobby?”

“He’s gone Cas. Now it’s-”

“What, did you do?”

“I fed him to my pet. Now it’s your turn. Give the puppy a treat now.” Cas fumes and looks around angrily. 

“I’m all out of treats.”

“Cas Cas Cas. You, are the treat.” He snaps again and I’m in Castiel’s hand. I can’t resist and immediately begin to pull energy out. It’s harder this time, but I get the slightest bit before he starts to fight back. It feels like before, like sweet memories. I pull and pull, fighting the angel and losing. If this kills me, so be it.

Then everything turns sour as pain courses through us both. Castiel’s screams mirror my own but with his distraction I can pull more energy out. I do. It is as sweet as before. It feels good, and warm, and pure like only memories can be.

And something snaps.

And it isn’t Crowley. 

  
  
  



	44. The Fight or Flight Syndrome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a demon flees.
> 
> We're almost there, 2.5 months of work to the present. Almost caught up! The newest chapters need editing, so at least one should be up soon.

The world is tinged with need and everything aches with hunger. I feel free and light despite this emptiness though, in fact I begin to float. I tentatively will myself to move, and delight surges through me as I fly around the prison, suddenly under my own control. I am falsely free. While it feels like home here, it is still a prison. I need a key. I fly at the near passed out angel in front of me and slam down into the body as I had seen done so many times, as had been done to me so many times. 

It feels so natural. Like I know exactly what to do. I manifest in the angel’s mind and we fight for control of the body. A fight I know I will lose. But I need to find out something. I wrap myself around the angel as best I can and squeeze. 

“ _Cas. Let me take control. I’ll get us out and-“_

_“No. I-“_

_“You’ve made worse deals. You’ve made ones with Lucifer!”_

_“And I learned from those mistakes.”_

_“Fine. Give me control or I will-“_

_“Devour me? You think that would be worse than spending eternity in the Empty?”_

_“No. I’ll figure out a way to push you into your own mind and make you happy so you get taken. I’ll leave you to rot in the Empty knowing you aren’t here to protect your friends from Crowley Or me.”_

“Chew Toy. Get out of there. I will destroy that body.”

“ _See? As long as I’m in here, we’re both in danger.”_

_“I have no problem with losing this body. The soul that was here with me is dead.”_

_“Did you die for the first time during that fight?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Then that soul is currently being devoured. I doubt it’s not damaged having been sitting next to an angle for decades. I can get us out of here so that doesn’t happen to Sam and Dean and Jack.”_

_“You don’t even know what type of demon you are, can you even teleport?”_

_“No clue. Let’s find out.”_

_“_ Chew Toy.”

“ _Cas. Worst that happens is I lie and your friends die, which is going to happen whether or not you help me. So let’s cause some trouble before we go out.”_

_“That’s what you want to do? Cause trouble before he kills us both?”_

_“You. He’ll kill you. I don’t care if I die. He won’t kill me as long as I see death as a reprieve. And he won’t let me escape somewhere where I can experience any pleasure without him there to leech it from me, even if it’s to the Empty. Let me put it another way.”_ I pull at the soul I’ve wrapped myself around. “ _Crowley said the hunger is less intense when you inhabit a body. And I’m hungry.”_

_“And in here you only have me to eat, out there you have more.”_

I scream in rage and pull at the soul. It’s pure and whole, God’s work putting an angel back together is a bit better than a spell’s after all. He still seems pristine. Time to find out if I was just a bit more dangerous than Crowley. 

I tear at the pure undamaged soul, and it rips, slightly. It rips but fights back. I’m not bound by Bobby and Dragoness’s deal. I’m not bound by contracts. I’m not even bound by lack of power. I have hundreds of years worth of experience on how to do this, and I’m a very hungry demon. Castiel screams out and Crowley curses. 

“ _Tell him Castiel. Tell him I will steal his meal if he doesn’t let us out right now. I will take the pleasure of killing you from him.”_

“No! I am not a messenger boy!” Castiel yells out loud in his pain.

“What is she saying angel boy?”

“No. I… won’t. I’d rather die.” Crowley snarls and snaps. The angel and I vanish, once again, and appear in Crowley’s clawed hand. “No!”

“No what angel boy?”

“She wants to be out here.”

“Of course she does. Is that it?” Castiel is silent and with another snap he is wracked through with pain again. It feels amazing and I bask in it. It hurts so badly and feels so good. “What. Else?” The pain stops and Castiel pants, staring defiantly. I take the moment to rip out part of his grace, and a small part of his soul. He screams and Crowley flinches, knowing he had not done that. “What is she doing to you?” He snaps and tries to pull me out, but it doesn’t work anymore. I’m not a soul he owns. I’m a demon. He can destroy me with a thought, but he can no longer control what I do. I need to get away from here, and fast. I need a hostage to do so though. Leaving the body and floating around as smoke Crowley could just swallow me again… unless I’m fast. He’s big, near 30 million big. That extra weight translates to precious seconds when leaving a body or changing form. Still, I want a hostage. I-

“Crowley. She’s going to escape and take me w-“ I rage and tear at the soul next to me, giving away my plans. I’m nowhere near as effective as Crowley, but the rage clears my head. I can’t take Cas with me, for a myriad of reasons, one being that Crowley will have to take precious moments to contain him again. 

Before Cas can mention my thoughts I burst out into the fresh air. I rejoice, for I am most definitely red, and oh do I have ideas for that little happenstance. I’m a bit darker than Crowley, more old dried thick blood than a pretty ruby, but I’m still red. 

“Don’t you dare Chew Toy.” 

I ignore him. I ignore the empty bodies with faces he can have tracked. I ignore the fleeting attempt of an angel to hold me with him. I ignore the faint pull of Hell from the circle. I ignore everything but the fresh air and my newfound ability… To fly. 

I rush up and over the roof and out of sight. Long gone and out of reach before Crowley can think. Or so I want it to look like. In reality I fly down and rush through the nearby trees a bit before coming back around the outside of the house to hover beneath the overhang of the roof. I want to know Crowley’s next plans. He would expect me to leave, every sane being would. But I’m not. I’m smart and very stupid at the same time. I can’t take over a body here and teleport out, any demon I kill would be noticed in their absence or death. Crowley might assume his plans are compromised and this would be for naught. I can’t just fly out of here, I know there are acres of cameras, but I don’t know their exact locations. My memory isn’t that good. So I need to know what his plans are. I know I’m going to lose this battle, but I’d like it to last for a bit. The best way to do that is stay under the radar. So I hope the false bit of imagery I left in the cameras already makes it seem like I’m floundering when I do leave, and then I float and wait. 

And listen happily to the curses above. 

“You bumbling excuse for an angel!”

“You expected me to hold onto her?!”

“No, I expected you to be able to tell me her plans!”

“I told you she was trying to escape Crowley. Why did you even remove her from the prison if this was a possibility?”

“Because she was killing you. I’ve saved your life, been toyed with by you. Cas, we’ve been married for centuries. It’s my right to file for divorce, not hers! ...And it’s high time I handed you the papers.” There is a crunch, then another, then nothing except the sound of an exhale. Cas’s body is dead. There are some things even an angel can’t heal; like being torn apart. I can’t see it, but I know that’s what happened by the satisfied tired sigh from Crowley and the silence from the dour angel. The only sound that fills the air is chewing.

I wait for the inevitable, interested to be on the other side for once. I don’t have long to wait at all. 

“Of course I’m going after her Cas. I can’t pay attention to you and her at once though, so I had to cut our orgy short. … Of course it was an orgy, you were...Yes well it’s a bit less physical now. ….. Yes, you’ll meet my scaley friend eventually, but for now you’re coming along for the ride. Partners on a case again. In fact, let’s get the team back together…. but first.” There is a slight pause and a whooshing sound, I can see a bit of red smoke in the sky briefly and I know Crowley is once again back in his human form. He no longer has a reason to stay in the demon one. Dead bodies can be digested in a pocket dimension, their use for torture is spent they are only disatisfying meat. 

There is silence for a brief moment and then Crowley speaks, and what he says does not bode well. 

“Dean.” Shit. Of course he’d call them. Well, let’s see how much smarter they are than they were portrayed in the show. I don’t have enough experience with them to say how smart they are. The show wouldn’t have been interesting if they were perfect hunters, but they gained a reputation somehow and I doubt it was because they were Chuck’s favorite characters. That was a metaphor after all. I continue listening closely, trying to glean as much as I can from one side of the conversation. 

“Yes. Hello. No. I’m not reneging on our deal but we have bigger problems... Yes, bigger than me. Yes Cas is here. He says to… fine.” There is some fumbling, false I believe, and then Cas’s voice comes out of Crowley’s mouth. I have a feeling it isn’t Cas speaking though. 

“Dean. Crowley’s right. We have bigger problems than him at the moment. Rebecca’s escaped and… his pet soul. Yes, the one you met. No. She is far more dangerous now that she has been turned into a demon. No-“ There is more false fumbling as Crowley ‘takes the phone from Cas’. 

“Not intentionally Dean, I broke my toy then lost it. Yes, I am a forlorn child who needs a cry and a hug from mummy. In the meantime I need you to look for her before she Eats too many people.” Crowley’s voice echoes on the balcony again and I can feel the smugness from here. “She doesn’t have my particular potency problem Squirrel, she can kill anyone she likes. No she’s not more powerful than me you idiot, she’s just seen me do it 30 Million times and didn’t learn a thing. ...Yes I’m being sarcastic….. Put Moose on… hello Moose. I have one thing to say. She killed Robert. Ate him like a chocolate filled cherry. Bring her back alive and I will make sure she suffers. Don’t, and I will do what she did to Robert, to Cas. Keep in touch.” Shit. Shit shit shit. 

Silence reigns for a moment as Crowley and I take in the possibilities and outcomes of what he just did. Shit. Still, I can’t leave yet, I don’t have the information I really need. 

“No Cas. Montreal. I have a package to get, but first I want to check the cameras.“ That’s what I needed to know. I quickly look around for a bird, only now remembering that I can possess animals. I find a dove quickly enough, but that won’t do. I keep looking, carefully avoiding the cameras I know of around the house. The bird I want would be here soon enough, I can’t afford to waste time but I can afford to be noticed less and-

There is a ringing on the roof and I’m brought out of my thoughts as Crowley answers his phone. 

“Yes Moose? … No, I don’t know her symbol yet. She needs a name for a symbol and- Of course she has a new name, she’s a demon. Well usually the torturer gives the name to the new demon, but she’s Not Exactly Here To Receive It and have her symbol appear in the books! So I guess she might choose her own, fortunately I have an idea of what it might be. Try the main character in her books, which you should read if you want to catch her. You like doing research right? There are copies at Sara’s base. Well it’s not your base anymore is it? I’ll have Rowena try to figure out what the symbol might be. Yes the symbol will appear in the books when she chooses a name. Do you know how you find a demon’s symbol in a book that is over 400,000 pages? By referencing their name! Now Get To Work!”

I laugh silently, I’m glad I stayed. I may very well have chosen that name, but I have another. Shahaerisaad. My butchered version of the story teller. And I have some stories to write. For now though, I wait. 

Soon enough the bodies on the balcony attract what I want, a turkey vulture. Something whose flight pattern of meandering but focused lines won’t arouse suspicion. It circles the house, I wait until it gets lower and toward my side. I rush up quickly and take over the bird, looking down briefly to see if Crowley is still there. He is not. The house looks beautiful from up here, the balcony painted red. I have no time to admire the abstract art though. 

I circle a few times then fly off to the nearest town as quickly as I dare. I stop to peck at a dead coyote I spy, try to act like the bird I am inhabiting. It takes a bit longer but I am fairly confident Crowley does not know which direction I went in. 

I arrive at the town of Casitas Springs, not thinking it a good idea to go to the closest town of Ojai. I head to a trailer park, tiny homes with lots of entry spots. The trailer park is large, a camping one I believe, which means nobody is really paying attention to the residents here, hopefully. There are not too many trailers right now, five at the most. I sneak into the first one, not really caring who I get. I ditch the bird midair and flow in through an open window to the smell of smoke, tobacco smoke. Cigarette tobacco smoke. Still don’t like that smell, and now I feel it mixing with my smoke. Ugh. 

I circle up behind a middle aged woman, blonde hair and skinny, far skinnier and better looking than I had ever been. She looks sad though. As she cooks an egg in a floral apron with a cigarette on her lips I barrel through them as she pauses to take a breath. I fill her every atom and then take a moment to examine her. 

No wonder she is sad. She is newly divorced. She lost everything because of her addiction, including the kids. She kept the trailer but that was it. She hasn’t had a job for thirty years, having been a stay at home mom up until two years ago when an old friend visited, trying to sell his wares. Make some money. He had sold her some opioids, saying it would help her back pain from a car crash five years ago. That had spiraled quickly. 

However it means no one will come looking for her. I look around at the futuristic trailer, the glowing magnets in the stove, the neon lighting, the hovering security system, the very illegal fast action heating pad with injectors. The very flammable fast action heating pad with injectors. I snap and it turns on to the maximum setting. Oh, that is satisfying, to snap and do things. 

I put a blanket on it and some of her clothes. There will be a fire within fifteen minutes. I look around quickly to make sure nothing is amiss, betraying my interference, and when I find none, grab her wallet and anything she has for trade. She quickly betrays the location of her stocks password, which she also quickly tells me is worthless. The heating pad was expensive. Trying to kick the habit with smaller and smaller doses intertwined with heat I suppose. She does however have cigarettes, and a few credits. I look up the nearest building center on her phone, the equivalent of a Home Depot or such. I’m there with a thought. I stagger out of the teleport, but smile. It is as awesome as I always imagined, but I have no time to ponder it. 

I look around quickly for the materials I need and realize as soon as I acquire them that I really don’t need money. With my stolen contraband in hand I snap myself away to Montreal. To Crowley’s personal stash. To where I think he’s kept my bones. 

I arrive outside a door I know well. It’s where he moved his more important items after the ordeal with the Men of Letters hundreds of years ago. He had checked on it once or twice, just to make sure. The building is old, unassuming, and surrounded by fencing that is falling apart. Everything about the building looks abandoned except for the sign saying ‘toxic chemical storage, keep out.’ The door in front of me is Covered in sigils. Glowing with energy, it is foreboding and impassible. The rest of the building has sigils too, preventing entry from windows and doors. I’m not even going to try to enter near any of those. 

I look to the top of the building, cement and barren and flat. Perfect. I have wanted to try this for...since I was alive in my own body. I grin, I’m excited. I bamf to the top and start mixing the iron oxide and aluminum oxide in the flower pot, double checking the ratio on the phone before destroying it. Looking up info like that will get you tracked these days. I feel a slight protest from the woman...Janice, and chuckle. My little prisoner, I have plans for you. I just don’t have time yet, and I may need info on this new age that I am not accustomed to. With the mixture ready, I place it over the center of the room and stand back. With a snap of my thumbs the strip of magnesium lights up in sparks, my will replacing a match. 

I watch as the fuse ignites the mixture in the pot. Soon enough the flower pot starts to glow as the thermite mixture melts it, and the ceiling below it as well. It takes a good three or four minutes, but I grabbed a lot of ingredients and a big ass flower pot. And thermite is fucking awesome. 

I drop through the glowing hole, and quickly jump out of the mess of glowing heat and shed my shoes. Thermite doesn’t stop until it uses up its fuel after all, the shoes are toast. I quickly look around the room. So many shiny things to look at, power to have and play with. I suppose I would be tempted any other time, but I need my bones more than anything. Crowley would come here to get them, he had done extensive warding. He didn’t want to break it just to get my bones. Now I just have to figure what he would keep them in. 

I look around. This was a last precaution type of thing. Near an afterthought. After all, him turning me into a demon? Unlikely. Becoming powerful enough to warrant destroying or threatening? Not a chance. Of course, neither of us counted on what me just being near him would do to my soul. So, I am worthless, but still a precaution. My bones are in a corner in a locked box with no warding, or a bag labeled tools or something. He doesn’t want my bones in something pricey, if someone did actually get in here he wants me overlooked. Like that staff. Never in plain sight. Misdirection. 

I look around for something he would think I would discount. Specifically me. The room is filled with boxes and bags and chests and books. Books. I wouldn’t look for any item in something that isn’t a container. I quickly look at the biggest pile of books and shift one slightly. It moves. I pull it out and look behind it. Nothing. I frown and replace it. Not there. Hurry hurry. Think think. Wait. I have help. I need to think like not me, so...

“Janice, where would you hide a body here?” 

“ _Uh, where you put a body. A coffin.”_ I blink. That isn’t hiding a body. It’s the last thing I would think of, overthinking everything as I do. There are however three coffins, one is a sarcophagus. I open that one first. The multiple layers provide an obstacle. It’s expensive sure, but also really hard to move and sell in the black market. Finally I get all the layers open and lean over to look. Inside is a mummy. I thank my studies and obsession with ancient Egypt when I was younger and look closer at the bandages and wrapping. Thick and wide, old and thin. Wrapped right behind the top layer is an amulet of a scarab. I peel back the bandages around the eye and poke my finger in the socket and up. Empty. I feel down, yup; broken nasal cavity. It had its brain removed. I feel the top of the head where a few hairs remain, waxy from scented waxes to cover the smell. This is a real mummy, and not a mummy of high standing, or it was done in quite the rush if it still had wax on its head. Either way it isn’t me wrapped up to look like one. 

I replace everything as best I can and quickly look at the second coffin. Basic painted wood from the 21st century, I look at the third. Old vampire horror movie style one. That’s where I’d want to be placed, so I look in the other. 

I’m greeted with bones, ones I have no idea if they are mine. I turn over the skull and look at the back of the head. Mine has a slight flat spot. I like to think it’s from where some kids bashed my head into a wall when I was a kid. Assholes trying to avoid being bullied themselves, pick on the weird kid or be bullied yourself. I wonder if they have any descendants? I shake my head. Focus. Food later. 

I look at the back of the skull, it indeed has a flat spot. I look at the neck, slightly curved from muscle knots pulling it out of alignment. It’s me. I quickly stuff it into the thick bag I brought the thermite ingredients in. I won't even try snapping it away, I doubt the warding will let me. I look at the books on the way out and decide that I could stand to do my own misdirection. I open the other coffin and put the skeleton from there into the one I removed my body from. I’d go grab another body but I’m not sure I have time. I look over the books after I close up both coffins. Where is it? There! The little brown book Crowley had gone through so much trouble to retrieve. His journal. I don’t really care about it, but if he thought I came here to grab that? I quickly take it and two other random books and throw them into the bag. 

I scramble up out the hole, after happily looking at the crater in the floor that is now 5 feet deep and still glowing. I fucking love thermite. Once on the roof I snap the bag and myself away to a graveyard.

Unearthing the oldest grave takes seconds. Desecrating the body even less. I barely register the name on the headstone except to make sure it’s female, about the age I was when I died, and at least 300 years old. Well, thanks for the help, whoever you were! I bamf back to the building and pause, listening from the roof. No one. I have a feeling Crowley is delegating research into my new name and symbol as well as keeping me human. This whole ordeal has taken me about an hour, I can’t imagine I have more than a few moments before he arrives. I jump back in and once again open both coffins. I move the skeleton back to its rightful home and place my new ‘friend’ into my body’s home for the last few centuries. I had no idea if that other body was male or if Crowley could tell. I didn’t want to take the chance. I’m only hoping the skeleton I took wasn’t from a soul born into the wrong body. A Dennis who became a Dorothy. 

I’m putting the finishing touches, aka shoving the nails back into the old vampire coffin when I hear it. Footsteps. 

I scramble out the top as fast as I can and lay flat on the roof. As flat as I fucking can, and start crawling away. 

“-her bones Ostrich. Insurance for her compliance. Of course she knows I won’t burn them...willingly. If she leaves me no choice I will light parts of it aflame until-... I Suppose if there is absolutely no other way… Castiel you poofed up excuse for a nightlight! I will destroy her soul myself before I resort to burning her bones, but if I have to I will! Then I’ll drag her back from the Empty and destroy her myself! ...I’ll figure it out later.” The door opens below me and in that instance of distraction from physical exertion I teleport away. I’m there just long enough to hear curses from Crowley. 

I’m hoping against hope my misdirection gives me enough time to enact my own plan. I told him to grind his bones to dust and scatter them. He said they could be reconstituted as long as they exist. Well, if I turn them into something else, they won’t exist. 

Back in the graveyard I grab the bag of me and teleport away. I need heavy. Heavy and flat. And I don’t feel like dealing with new age machinery. Rocks it is. Good old rocks. I love rocks.

Arizona. Rocky outcrops and hills. Joshua Tree park. It’s night here and cold. The desert night sky is as fantastic as I remember. I want to take time to look at it with my own eyes, my own will, for as long as I want, but I can’t. Later. I have work to do. First things first I check out the two books I grabbed. I look at the blue one, spells. Don’t have enough time to learn them. I set it aside and look at the other. It’s filled with symbols on brittle paper. I flip through it quickly. Is it really? Could I be that fucking lucky for once in my life? Fuck me it is. I quickly draw the symbol I recognize from Rowena's dress, the one that hides you from hellhounds, in the dirt. Then I draw it again. And again. And again. I draw it until I have it memorized and then I carve it into Janice’s skin. I stand satisfied that I’ve committed it to memory then I set about finding the biggest boulder I can that I can move, and the flattest rock.

I find one nearby luckily, it’s a brown red flat rock and I empty the bag on it then set the bones out. With that done I turn and stare at the 200 pound boulder I am about to try lifting. It’s sandstone, therefore quite big, not dense at all. I squat then wrap my arms around it, pause to take in its latent warmth from the sun for a moment, and lift. 

I stand. Easily. Man, magic is weird. I hold the boulder in front of me and walk with it as if it’s nothing more than a heavy barbell. I hold it over the bones, and drop it. I pick it up. I drop it again. I do this for a good fifteen minutes until I have a fine powder. I quickly snap it into the bag with a thought, not wanting to lose too much to a light breeze, although the air is perfectly still tonight. This is gonna suck, fortunately demon physiology pretty much meant that whatever I ate would just be completely absorbed. However… it meant I needed to be in Hell. Just to be real fucking sure. So...sorry Janice. But I can’t take you with me alive, it’s way past dinner time anyway. 

I feel giddy as I squeeze the small bit of light into the red smoke that is me. I hold it there, sinking into it as far as I can without a contract, and then pull. I pull in every direction at once. I had seen Crowley do this millions of times, it’s harder than it looks. Taking just a bit of Castiel was easy, this is breaking something down entirely. It takes a lot of effort to do something that shouldn’t be possible, but I have a bit of Crowley’s power, knowledge, curse… Stuff. Whatever. He needed contracts to do this to pure souls until he got powerful enough. Before Robert put that rule into place with Dragoness. I wonder how it is worded? Did she intend to take that ability away from him completely? It seemed that is what happened, I had thought he would grow powerful enough to destroy a pure soul by himself, he should have passed that ages ago. So it seems Robert had a small success in subverting Crowley yet again. No pure souls for him. 

Now me… I have no such law holding me. I could rip into Robert easily, as damaged as he was. Castiel, Grace isn’t a soul. And now that I think on it, I really have no idea what I was eating of his back there. I think I got a bite or two of his soul, but I'm not sure. 

I feel the white ball that is Janice in the red smoke that makes up my form now. Crowley had claimed to the boys I could destroy pure souls, a threat worthy of concern, now to find out if he was right. Time to find out what power level I’m starting at here. I’m hoping for over 9000. 

I pull again, the silent screams egging me on as their vibrations ring off the confinement of this stolen body. I pull and feel the energy begin to break apart in me. It feels like stars, tiny parts of a supernova blasting out to make new planets in the smoky ether. I will gladly take it and make new worlds with it. I pull harder and with a snap I’m covered in a rain of sunlight. Janice is gone, her memories moving through my smoke. White specks of a person flying through my red Milky Way. I look up and sigh, happy to mirror the sky above; I am content. That feeling lasts for all of a half second before the hunger creeps up again. So much for that. I guess I did inherit the curse.

I turn to grab the books and see they are gone. Time to go. As long as Crowley knew what a thing looked like, knew the object intimately, he could call on it as long as it wasn’t behind warding. I’m pretty sure he couldn’t trace those back to me. Pretty sure. I’m not staying to find out. I pick up the bag and focus on red stone and screams, and take my first trip back to Hell as something that would feel truly at home there. Probably.

  
  



	45. The Hell Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which demons die, and daring escapes are attempted.
> 
> Now we're up to date!

I arrive in a small corridor, near the Purgatory entrance. I quickly walk away, that is not where I want to be. There is a chance Crowley would be talking to Dragoness. 

I hurry along the winding maze of red stone and screams until I find a cell block. Empty for now. No one was using it for a checked out soul from the library. I walk through them, looking for one that is particularly spacious. Most of these are dry, clean of blood and guts but not dust. Souls are in the line now. Any special cases for Crowley...I shake the thoughts from my head. I need to focus, not be thinking of food now. This ceaseless hunger is annoying, I’ll have to get in the practice of ignoring it, like I did pain. 

I find a big cell and enter, quickly looking out before I close the door behind me. I drop the bag and take a breath, and pause. 

He wouldn’t think to look for me here. I should be safe for at least a bit. I sigh and look around, and feel. Hell feels a bit different, drier, warmer. It’s not bad but it’s not pleasant either. The stone floor is warm beneath my bare feet, but not as warm as when I was just a soul. I take a breath again, bracing myself for yet another discovery, and exhale into the room. I fly around as red smoke a moment before looking at the body I just left. It’s still alive, and freaking out in rage. I needed to deal with it, I should have killed it while I was inside. I focus on solidity, on being able to rip and tear and feel, and draw with my own hands.

I start to feel heavy, like I’m weighted down with sand, and suddenly I’m on the ground… but I don’t seem to do ...or know anything. I have no shape! Something… something is wrong! It has to be! I try to move, but can’t. I’m in the dark, I can sense everything around me but I can’t see or smell or hear. It’s terrifying, this lack of anything except the feeling of hot stone and the subtle sense of where the walls and Janice's body are. I don’t want to live like this! This prison that very well could be my mind. I don’t want to be in Johnny Got His Gun. I need arms, legs, eyes! Something! Anything else to let me interact with the world!

I’m about to return to smoke to get away from this confusing state when I can suddenly feel a hand. Not a hand on me, but a hand that is mine. I slowly start to move, form. Is this Hell deciding what my true self is? Is this me deciding? Do all demons start like this, or is my true form just a blob of moldable clay? All of these make sense. I quickly focus on what I want to be, and feel myself begin to move upward. I feel bones and muscle organizing and forming. I rise as a spine holds me up slowly. I feel dizzy as my head forms and when my eyes open everything is far too bright for a moment. I try to cover my eyes and everything goes dark. I draw my hands away from my face… all six of them. Their spindly fingers long and dexterous. I blink. So many. I don’t need that many h-

There is a pain in my thighs and I look down. Janice’s body has taken advantage of my new form and attacked. Her pedicured pink nails gouging into the flesh of my leg. She is small, not as small as a person is to Crowley, but still small. She rakes her nails down my side and I wince, wishing I could crush her with more than my flimsy hands. My legs ache and burn as my flesh melts together in the middle. I nearly fall forward onto my attacker as my legs meld together and my toes ache and stretch. My skin itches as scales form, blood red and shining they deflect the nails coming at them easily. 

Oh. This is wonderful. Of course my true form would be malleable, I spent half my life drawing on my skin. All of my life creating. Of course this would be what I am. I look down at my attacker with glee. Oh, let’s test this out. 

………………………………….

Half an hour later I slither around the cell, completely a snake from head to toe. Or fang to tail. I’m 16 feet long in this form, and the cell is constraining. But I have one more meal, a bitter pill to swallow, before I leave. I eye the bag of bone dust and move my jaw from side to side. I slither up to it and unhinge it as I did but fifteen minutes ago. It had taken some doing the first time, I didn’t quite get it right. The bag goes down much easier. 

I am less cruel than Crowley, at the moment. The body died quickly of asphyxiation, I have no wish to prolong its torture for my own pleasure or secondary meal of sin. It was foolish of me to eat it in the first place. I am finding what Crowley said to be very true, urges are much harder to control in this form. I need to get out of it. I also need to stay here until I can digest the bone dust however. I can’t stay right here though. If someone sees me they will ask questions. A giant snake is not a normal demon form. Nor is a blob. I relax, and think natural, what I would think normal would be. Unnoticeable. Boring. 

I feel my upper body changing, growing shoulder blades and arms. The sensation is queer and I wonder how far I can press this ability. I imagine small, four feet, and I begin to shrink a bit, maybe three inches, but stop there. I can’t change my size category it seems.

I push myself to extremes for another twenty minutes to learn the limits of my abilities. No more than six arms, no more than two legs, no more than one head, no taller than 16 feet, no more than two mouths, three eyes, two ears. The restrictions of maximization are huge, but I can have nothing if I want. A sphere rolling across the floor with one eye could be me, propelled by my will alone. I feel like an avatar in a Shin Megami Tensei game. Or Persona. 

I settle for a naga with four arms and a mouth that near splits the head in half. I need to finish digesting this bone and then get the hell out of Hell. I can imagine every demon is registered and listed and organized in Crowley’s hell. I need to find somewhere to lay low. And I think I know where, if I can find it. 

It feels like days that I slither around the corridors of hell. Perhaps it is. Perhaps it’s been hours. The corridors twist and turn. Red and black stone blending together. Lightning flashes overhead in some parts while in others a cathedral like ceiling looms. I see a few other demons but they pay me little mind except a few looks and whistles at my topless half. It is monotonous, but I can feel the weight of the bone dust in the pit of my stomach still. I need more time. This is horribly boring. 

I turn a corner and nearly run into a three foot tall scraggly demon. His face is round and he has one eye and a very long tongue. I almost apologize before remembering where I am. I hiss and continue on my way. The little demon has other ideas. I feel a slap on my tail and turn to see him grinning. I have no time for this. 

“Little demon, I will eat you alive. Leave me, I have placessss to be.”

“Darling, you can eat me anytime.” I hiss again at this, near lunging. I don’t have time for this, to figure out if I might be noticed or if he could escape. 

“Don’t tempt me.” I turn and begin to slither away. 

“Hey, you-“ I snarl, I had warned him. I turn and wind around him. I squeeze. 

“Should I take an arm, or just go for your head?” I lean over the tiny demon and open my mouth, two rows of teeth shining far too visibley for a human mouth. The demon panics and puffs away in a line of black smoke. I hiss again, not sure if I’m satisfied or disappointed, and continue on my way. 

Two hours later I’m still turned around. I cannot find my way to the cage, the one place I doubt anyone visits with any regularity. I sigh and relent my search for it, deciding my next best bet is to keep moving. I slither into a corner somewhere and breathe. I listen for sound, look for prying eyes, check for anything that might pop up suddenly. After I’m completely sure I’m alone I begin to split my tail in two. Best to change forms, just in case I attracted attention. I move my mouth downward, change the shape of my eyes, remove my hair and elongate my fingers. When I’m confident I look completely different, I step out of the corner and begin to walk. 

I spend another hour wandering without running into anyone. That reprieve is cut short by a familiar voice. 

“-so hot.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep flirting with chicks bigger than you Danto.”

“Well, I’ll die in a very happy place.”

“She was going to eat you.” I round the corner and see the tiny demon talking to a demon twice his size seemingly completely made of tentacles. The now named Danto sighs wistfully. 

“Yeah. Now if I just knew she’d let me out again.” 

I shake my head and keep walking. He’s gonna get himself killed. There’s not a demon out there that would let him out again. 

“Just smoke out you idiot.”

“I mean… yeah. But where’s the fun in that?”

“Dude, did you not learn from-“

The voices fade as I walk down a hallway. The wall to the left vanishes and I find myself to the right of the pits. I know where I am. That’s bad. If I know where I am, it’s a place Crowley frequents. I’m about to turn away when a familiar voice calls out. 

Ranni. 

Shit. 

“Hey. You. Come here.” I turn and look around wildly then point to myself. “Yes, you, gut mouth.” 

I swallow, and as I walk quickly melt my tongue back into my flesh. If I can’t talk, I can’t betray myself as easily. Ranni holds a digital clipboard and is tapping a stylus on it as she looks at me. I stop in front of her and hold my hands behind my back. 

“I don’t recognize you. Are you new?” I nod. “How new?” I shrug. “So not new.” I shrug again. “What are you doing?” I make a walking motion with my fingers. She glares. “Why aren’t you talking?” I open my mouth and she looks in. “Ah. One of those. Goddammit.” I nod as if in agreement. “We may need to get you a meat suit.” Shit. I shake my head quickly, without thinking. She stares. “You...don’t want a meat suit?” I shake my head again and shiver. I rub my stomach and then make motions of things coming out of my mouth. “It makes you nauseous.” I nod. Ranni narrows her eyes. “What’s your name...shit.” I shake my head and hold my arms in an x. “You don’t like your name?” Man, I haven’t played charades in ages. Maybe I can annoy her into letting me go...or just delegating me to some worthless position. I look at Ranni, no. She wouldn’t do that if it could cause problems, she is prideful of her work. I make the x again then shake my head while air writing. 

“You...have no name?” I nod. “What about your torturer?” I scratch my head as if confused. She sighs. Fortunately I seem to have retained my storytelling ability and quickness when it comes to creating. I have a backstory already. “How did you become a demon?” I make a writing motion and she raises a brow. “Contract. And the contract holder who should have named you when you came down?” I make a gun with my hands and make as if to shoot Ranni. I mock the recoil then hold my arms to my side and freeze. This is going to be a long charade, but Ranni is patient. I make a stabbing motion and then do an over the top fake death before pointing to myself and running. She stares. 

“Devil’s trap bullets and a demon killing knife?” I shrug and scratch my head as if I have no clue what those are. “Hunters got him, and you ran.” At this I nod and give a thumbs up. Ranni makes a note. “I’ll need to talk about intake in clerical if they are missing lost contracts this easily.” She sighs and looks up at me. “Alright. Well do intake the old fashioned way. Why did you want to be a demon?” Shit. I had not thought of that. Uh uh. I make muscles and then point at myself, then make a gun again and point it at myself. I hold up and shake my hands in a panic. Ranni stares. I slump over, tired. Charades is hard.

“You were being hunted?” I straighten and jump up, nodding quickly. I actually get a smile from her. I almost feel sorry that Crowley will kill her when he finds out she failed. “Alright. So do you want revenge?” I nod. No demon would do otherwise. “Do you know what they looked like, or why they were after you?” I shake my head. Wouldn’t do to have fake backstories for other people. People that could be researched. “Ok, we can work on that later. What was your job?” I make a eating motion with my mouth and a writing motion with my hand. “Food writer?” I nod. “Any renown?” I shake my head. Wouldn’t do to have anything traceable. “So, vice?” I make the eating motion again. It’s the only thing I can think of. When I was alive I didn’t really care for food, or drink, not excessively. I cared for nothing excessively enough to consider it a vice or a sin, besides art anyway. Now, whatever would have manifested is replaced by Crowley’s fucking curse. I’m hungry, all the fucking time. I can see why Crowley preferred being in a meat suit unless he was actively doing something to ameliorate the situation, it’s fucking distracting. 

Ranni nods. “Makes sense. Ok, let’s get you situated in the kitchen, you can meet the king later. He’s going over all new intakes right now.” Shit. Fuck. Balls. Ranni sees my sudden nervousness and smiles. “He doesn’t bite unless you’re an idiot or piss him off, don’t do anything stupid and you’ll be fine.” I shake my hands in front of me and draw my foot in circles as if embarrassed, hands behind my back. Ranni chuckles. “So you’ve seen him already?” I nod and hold my hand about his meat suit's height and then up as high as I can. I pretend to swoon and back away raising my hands again. “You’ll be fine. Either way you have a few hours to prepare, he’s out organizing some things right now. Trouble in the ranks.” Oh? I wonder if I can get her to tell me anything of the happenings. I make a motion of shock, hands on either side of my mouthless face and motion for her to continue. “Nothing for you to worry about. Now, name.” I shake my head, if they gave me a name they could look it up and see I wasn’t there. “Sorry, everyone has to have a name. So, Allara.” Fuck it. Fine. I nod. “I’m Ranni, now let’s get you to the kitchens.” Fuck. “And we’ll have to do a smoke check.” I scratch my head, actually confused. “Check that you can smoke, just standard procedure.” Shit, no she’s checking color. Fuck. Sorry Crowley, but I have only one idea to get out of this. I hold out my arms and indicate for Ranni to lead the way. I thank...something that she is stupid enough to do so. 

She leads me through hall after hall, turn after turn until I am thoroughly lost. I have a feeling she is not leading me to the kitchen. However she is chattering all the way in an attempt to distract, educate, or calm me. She is not glancing back often, relying on her ears to tell her I am still following. That’s good, because I am changing shape. Ranni is by no means large, but I need to be bigger. She can’t escape. I can only hope this works. 

I plan on changing my feet last, not wanting to alter the meter of my steps and tip her off. It’s difficult, I have a set mass and I need to either be long or tall for this to work. I go with tall, thankful that this part of Hell has no ceiling. I’m thin, the mouth from before five times as long now, basically a slit down the entire front of my body. A body from which I have removed all other features except an eye at the top. I have four long writhing tentacle like arms, that have sharp hooks at the end, just in case. I look like a fucking mutated roper from D&D. Finally I shrink my legs so I’m level with her, and as my gate changes Ranni pauses, steps faltering. I continue towards her. 

My arms wrap around her as she turns and I pull her back toward me. The clipboard falls to the floor as I literally throw her back into my open mouth, an iron maiden made of flesh. Perhaps mouth is the wrong word, it's more like my body just opens in the front. I slam shut before she can scream or breathe or think. I would have liked to be dramatic, tell her who I am, have a flair for the situation like Crowley did. I don’t have the time or the luxury of failure right now. I can feel her fighting but I don’t have time or assuredness in myself to savor it. I squeeze, the myriad of teeth crushing her stolen body. Her smoke tries to escape but I immediately grab at it with my red mist and pull it down to my other prison, the one that Crowley had that no other demon did. No other demon except me. I pull her down there, and wait, ready to tear her apart if she tries to leave, if she can leave. 

_“What the fuck?!”_ Ranni crashes around the infinite red prison, my infinite red prison, and I near cry out with joy. She’s trapped, just like I was for hundreds of years. Just like I would be again assuredly. For now though, I can be on the other side. I am sad I don’t have time to relish it right now. Later perhaps. I quickly start once again to change shape, not wanting to be caught in a form that will literally spew chunks of meat out if I tried to talk. I go for a very lithe form again, with three eyes, one vertical between the other two. I sprout four arms, two long legs, and many many horns instead of hair. 

_“Who the fuck are you!?”_ Oh joy, I get my moment of over the top drama after all. 

_“Oh, you know who I am Ranni, hi.”_ I have no qualms about mentally talking to my prisoners, pride in myself is not one of my sins. Besides I have no one to horrify or torture with the soliloquy that are the false one sided conversations Crowley has. Ranni is silent a moment, then a myriad of curses fill my mind as I continue to take on my new form. I chuckle as I bend down to pick up the clipboard. 

_“He will find you! He will send his hounds after you!”_

_“He will eventually Ranni, but thanks for reminding me, my previous sigil has probably disintegrated by now.”_ I lift up the bottom of my foot and with a long nail carve the hellhound protection sigil there, where no one can see it. It hurts, and it bleeds a lot. Shit, noticeably a lot. I can’t afford to mess up right now. I look around, but don’t see a single goddamn flammable thing to cauterize the wound with. 

It’s then that the clipboard flashes in my other hand. 

_“He’s on his way.”_ Shit. I look at the alert.

‘Heading over now with Growley, keep her occupied till I can confirm it isn’t Chew Toy.‘ Shit. I look down at my chest and quickly flatten it, then sharpen my face even more, completely androgenous. No longer a her, something Crowley wouldn’t expect from me after I had voiced my discontent at being shoved into control of a male body repeatedly. 

_“How are you doing that?”_

“ _My true form is literally a blob of clay. Now, where is he coming from? How close by?”_ Ranni clamps down immediately, but I have been with the King of Hell for hundreds of years, I’ve had information torn out of me repeatedly. I know exactly what to do. I reach down into my own well of anger and memories of pain and shoot it at her like an arrow with a string attached. She screams, and her pain sends ripples of satisfaction through me. Was this why demons tortured humans? Is this what it was like for Crowley? Jeez. I ignore it, not now. Not my cup of tea anyway. I pull out the arrow and tear at the crack in her being, pulling out the information I want. 

I get nothing. This is not as easy with a demon, or perhaps I’m just not good at it. 

_“Column A, column B. You need training.”_

_“Probably. But for now…”_ I continue my search for something flammable. I walk, and am about to drop the clipboard before I leave when I realize my scent is on it. I can’t leave it, I certainly can’t take it with me, it probably could be tracked. Shit. Second time I’ve fucked up. 

_“You will fail and-”_

_“_ And either way, you will die. Shut the fuck up.” I concentrate and grow out some long hair, brown, because it’s the first color I think of. I take a nail and start to slice it off, ready to use it to burn the bottom of my foot. I don’t get that far. As soon as I start cutting I feel pain, this hair is not dead, it’s part of me. I pause and breathe, startled, and feel a lurch from my stomach, and keel forward from the sudden shift in weight. I feel lighter, pounds lighter. I think my meal has just been stolen….perhaps. I pull at my hair again, cutting it with a sharp claw once more. 

No pain. Growing something that… isn’t part of my clay takes energy, material. I wonder if I ate enough I could change sizes… I shake my head. Another time. I cut off the hair and light it on fire with a snap. The smell is as awful as it was when I was alive, burning hair smells like death. I drop the burning mess and hold my foot over it, wincing at the stinging sensation, but relaxing at the warmth as the pain quickly becomes more than tolerable. It’s not that it doesn’t hurt per say…. It’s so hard to describe. But it’s nice. 

I hear a sound from the left corridor and look up, then quickly stomp out the hair and brush it away. I look back up just as my greatest fear walks into the corridor. My stomach drops in fear and anticipation. 

He walks in with Growley by his side, sniffing the ground and living up to her name. Crowley looks at her and then at me, and then at the clipboard in my hand and raises a brow. 

“That, is not yours.”

“I, uh, found it on the ground here.” True. 

“How long ago?”

“Like a minute before you came sir.” Also true. 

I am trying very hard not to talk like myself, change some type of mannerism, it’s a bit difficult with Ranni screaming in my head. I watch as Growley walks up and sniffs the clipboard, I hold it out, shivering. Not a difficult feat with how nervous I am. Growley sniffs it thoroughly and growls, looking at me, and then around the hall. I step out of the way, to the side and let the hellhound follow the path the few more feet to where Ranni took her last step. Her meat suit sits heavy in my stomach, proof of my crime. I can feel the sin manifest very slightly by the dead flesh, not fully because I wasn’t really doing it out of anything other than an intent to survive. It feels warm, and very sweet. 

Her demonized soul screams in my head, trying to distract me, but I manage to ignore it for now. The hellhound stops at my hair, sniffs and recoils, then continues their search elsewhere. I keep the clipboard close, needing it to explain Ranni’s scent on me if Growley came back. Crowley however takes notice of my action and his hellhound’s. He walks up to the pile of smoldering hair and looks at it with a raised brow, then turns his gaze to me again. 

“What is this?”

“I… I had just finished cutting my hair when I happened on the clipboard. I don’t like leavin pieces of me around so I was burning it. Sire, can… can I help you?”

Crowley has been regarding me deeply, much to my dismay. He is immaculate as always, whereas I am naked, disheveled, and smell of burning hair. He is having trouble hiding his distaste. He looks me up and down, and when he reaches the floor notices the blood.

“Was this here when you arrived?”

“Uh, no. It’s mine. A small cut, nothing to worry about.” I shuffle my feet as if embarrassed, bringing attention to them, and not my second pair of arms going behind my back. I’m about to make a cut on my back to explain the blood when Growley returns, whining. Crowley frowns then looks at me, my fragile lithe form, and shakes his head. He holds out his hand for the clipboard and I tentatively hold it out, arm shaking still in fear and anticipation. This is nerve racking, and very exciting. Crowley grabs the clipboard, looks me up and down once more, and then turns to leave.

And everything goes to shit. 

Growley sits and whines, and Crowley pauses and turns. 

“What?” Growley turns and looks at me. “What do you mean they smell nice? It smells like burnt hair and I’m about to vomit if we don’t get out of here.” Growley turns and pads towards me, and I tense. Right, fuck, Crowley can speak with some animals… can all demons do that? Fuck. We both watch as the hellhound stops in front of me and sniffs again, long and hard, and flops on its side panting. The hound I had spent hours upon hours with, letting it guard me, slowly gaining its trust, giving it belly rubs, was asking for one. 

Crowley turns slowly and looks at me. I think fast, as fast as I can.

“Uh… can I pet him?”

“Her. And yes, if you don’t mind losing a hand, or three.” I nod and swallow, but kneel down. 

“Who’s a good girl, yes, yes you are.” I tentatively reach my hand out in a fist and let her sniff it. Her tail wags harder and I slowly pat her head, acutely aware of the gaze upon me. 

“I wouldn’t have thought of this form for you Chew Toy.” I almost tense, I really do, but manage to keep my cool, Ranni yelling in my head actually helps, the distraction that she is. Keep the ploy, stay the course. I continue patting the dog and reach out another hand to rub under her chin.

“Yes who’s a good girl? You a- Sorry sire. Who?” Crowley steps closer and I pause and look up, resulting in a discontented sound from the hellhound. I take another hand and begin to rub her belly, getting a kicking leg for my troubles. 

“Growley only trusts a few people; myself, my mother, and a very close acquaintance of mine. You are not the annoyance I equate with my mother, and I am right here, so that leaves one person.”

“Well, I hope Growley’d make an exception for a professional dog groomer and trainer. Would you? I think you would!” I begin scratching down her neck, both hands on either side of it scratching away. Crowley continues to walk forward slowly. 

“No, I mean she has been Trained, to only accept people I tell her to, and even then They have to win her trust. So...Chew Toy-”

“Fuck, and I was almost finished my meal too.” At this Crowley pauses, his slight smile gone.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I have another packed away, don’t I Growley? And one right here in my hands, yes I do.” I start to tighten my hands on the Hellhound’s neck, not enough to make her whimper, or even cause discomfort, but enough for Crowley to see that my hands are in position to snap her neck. He tenses.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Walk the other way, give me a two minute head start, right here and now, and you’ll get your hound back.” He blinks.

“Two minutes, that’s all you’re asking for?”

“And the four little words that are music to your ears, even if the violin may be out of tune this time.” His jaw sets as he looks at me.

“Leave your other meal, and we have-”

“Nope. Not gonna happen. I-” I stiffen at a particularly loud scream and exhale loudly. I send as much pain as I can muster through every fiber of my being. I tighten my grip on Growley’s neck for insurance in my moment of distraction.

Crowley watches.

“Trouble?”

“Indigestion.”

“Ranni always did have spirit. I’d really prefer both of my assets back alive.”

“Well, she knows too much now.” Crowley chuckles.

“You’ve been out three days, how many secrets could you possibly have? Also, thank you for confirming that it is in fact Ranni.” I curse, but then grin.

“You have no idea what secrets I have. Crowley, you know how conniving I am, I know how manipulative you are, we know how the other thinks. I learned from the best, and I’ve been putting it to use. So, what’s two minutes? A mere two minutes, one for each of your lovely assets? I can’t get far. C’mon, play some chess with me again.” His face is expressionless, I have no idea what is going on behind that human mask, it’s absolutely wonderful to not know. 

“Give up now and your punishment will be a lot less severe.”

“No it fucking won’t. Crowley, I already know exactly what you’ll do when you catch me, don’t even try to play it off.”

“Really? Enlighten me.”

“No. Deal, or I destroy Ranni right here and now alongside Growley. Four little words and we can have ourselves a merry little chase.” The only sound in the hall is that of my hands on Growley’s neck and belly. We stare at each other, a stalemate if Crowley actually wants his allies alive, or perhaps he’s actually enjoying fighting an opponent whose goal isn’t to overthrow him, unseat him. This was something he could take time with. Maybe the only reason he called the Winchester’s was to put off the fight with them. After all, the longer I spend as a demon, the worse it will be when I return to human. 

I have no intention of doing that at all. I’m hoping to lose him for a few decades, I don’t know what I’ll do during them, but it will be Me doing those things, not him. I’ll lose this battle eventually, I’m hoping for a spectacular end to this story arc. I could ‘win’ right now by going to the Empty, but how boring would that be? And it sounded horrible there, just regrets and possible successes played over and over? Ugh. Besides, he’d get me out eventually, if only to kill me. I have no doubt; he’s a vindictive man, revenge is one of the highest things on his list of vices, and he likes a slow slow burn. 

So we stare, and think, and wait. Too long. 

“Choose and perish Crowley, I’m not waiting another second for your backup to come. Deal or no deal?” I raise my free hand, ready to snap Ranni into oblivion. I’m not sure if it would work that way, but hey, I had already destroyed two souls manually, I had seen Crowley do this thousands upon thousands of times. Either way I pull my prisoner into a smokey grasp, ready to do it more hands on if the snap doesn’t work. Crowley stands still, hands in pockets, raising the tension as I give belly rubs to his favorite pup. “Three...Two...On-”

“We have a deal.” I grin. 

“Oh no we don’t. We have a start. I need to explicitly state what I am asking for before you agree to it, Sire. You are agreeing to give me a two minute head start at this moment in time, to run away from you, and all your constituents and allies. With no one blocking my way, impeding me, or attacking me while I move, not on your order at least. Do we have a deal on That?” Crowley huffs, in annoyance, respect, amusement, something, but he nods. 

“You’ve come a long way since I met you.”

“As far as you?”

“Not quite.”

“Of course not, can’t compete with the King of the Crossroads.”

“Then why are you trying?”

“Why, because I have the chance to make something again. Even if it’s the story of my own demise, it’ll be one I have a hand in writing.” 

“You really think you have a chance at choosing how this ends?”

“No, but I can write a chapter or two, I’ve been told by someone pretty high up that I’m not bad at coming up with ideas.” Crowley huffs again, a laugh this time, and nods. 

“We have a deal.”

“We have a deal.” I stand and pat Growley on the head. “You wouldn’t happen to know the way to the exit now would you girl?” Growly whines at the cessation of my pets and growls unhappily at being torn between the person who gives her belly rubs and her master who gives her fresh meat and souls. 

“One minute 40 seconds.” I look at Crowley, curse, turn tail and run. 

_“Coward.”_

“I prefer the term strategist Ranni, now shut the fuck up.” As I run and turn corner after corner, I change shape, my only recourse at this time. I need a form that will smell different, skew my scent with how different it is from mine. But first, I need a distraction, a red herring, and to shed some dead weight. 

I grab at one arm with the other three and pull, forcing another arm to grow beneath it. It hurts, a lot, and I stumble from the lurch in my gut but I can feel the last bit of bone dissolve as it’s turned into ‘clay’. Half of Ranni’s body is gone too. I pull the arm off with a crunching of bone as another more scaley arm bursts out from beneath it. The ratio of molding material I get from my meal is greatly disproportionate. Half a body and a bit of bone for an arm. I’d have to eat a lot to grow a few inches. I hope things like cake work too. I miss cake. 

I continue my mad dash as I grow scales, change the shape of my face to a more reptilian guise, crocodilian in fact. I wince and stumble again as I use the last bit of my meal to grow a tail, a short one, but still a tail, new flesh I didn’t have a moment before. As odd as it may be, I need to be able to be injured right now, anything else might give me away. I’m not sure if this skill could be used to heal, in fact I doubted I could heal anything unless I changed form, but that was still not the norm. I suppose I might be powerful for a demon, but I am most definitely not the most powerful out there, by far. I have few skills except my creativity and ingenuity. I can’t fight, I’m not particularly strong, I have had no time to practice with a demon’s abilities at all. I do have a boat load of knowledge from my time with Crowley though. Doesn’t help me if I’m lost. 

I can hear footsteps behind me, gaining fast. I finish most of my transformation as quickly as I can, even changing gender again, and rake my claws across my only bit of unscaled skin, a section on my side. I run, letting the blood drip a ways, dip my fingers in the wound even, and throw it in front of me. I quickly run back, allowing scales to grow over the last bit of red skin. For a final touch I claw my own stomach again, deeply, with eagle like talons. I am a sight when Crowley’s red smoke rounds the corner on Growley’s tail. Crocodile head on a serpentine body with avian talons and digitigrade legs I am bent over panting, holding an arm that looks nothing like my own, blood everywhere.. 

The trisected pointed feet slam to the ground in front of me and I am knocked over by the now 27 foot tall King of Hell, definitely taller at least. I wonder if Cas is still alive, or if that’s the meal that gave him a growth spurt. He leans over me as Growley sniffs the area, and me. The arm is taken by a hand far bigger than my head by many times over, and I am picked up by two others. 

“What happened here?” Crowley has no face right now, his voice coming out in that razor filled gravelly sound. I swallow in fear and look back and forth for a second before allowing anger to cloud my features. I am angry after all, mainly at myself for my mistakes back there, but still. 

“Fucker attacked me! I was walking down the hall and they barrelled into me, I grabbed their arm and they fucking raked their claws down into my side. I got a few good hits in before they fucking… I’m gonna fucking kill-”

I am choked and thrust into the wall, the blank face staring at me.

“They are mine. Touch them, and I touch you, intimately, from the inside.”

“Y-yessir. Of course Sire.” I’m dropped unceremoniously in a heap and I start to scramble away, rightly afraid. “Wait.” I freeze, I slowly turn around. “What Growley? ….Of course she smells like Chew Toy, their blood is all over her. ...Well get their scent and Move. She can’t have gotten far, and her body had decidedly too few holes for my liking… Of any kind my darling Cas, you can take it as-” The voices fade and I swallow. I needed to change form again, fast. I quickly run in the other direction, looking around for any demon who might spot my metamorphosis. I had been lucky so far, that might not last or-

I turn the corner and trip over something small and red.

“Ow, hey motherfucker! You- oh heeeey.” I turn over to see a familiar face, Danto. He is tangled in my tail and legs, his one eye looking at me, certain parts of me, until they see the red leaking from my side. “Oh hey! Fuck. What happened?” He looks back and forth, worried he might be in danger. “Did hunters get down here?”

“No, no. Just a fight. One I have clearly not done well in, I need to get out of here.” I sit up and hold my side, which does in fact ache. 

“Well the halls end-”

“No, I need to get out of Hell.”

“Woah. Woah. I ain’t dealin in nothing that goes against the king’s orders.”

“I just need help to the door. I’m kinda dizzy from blood loss, I’m a crossroads demon, I’m allowed out.” I think I’m a crossroads demon, or at least that my eyes will flash red. I doubt I’m any type of normal demon, this is going to fuck me over so badly. “Look, I’ll do…” I don’t even finish the sentence before his eyes light up. Right, this pervert. I could use this, but could I control myself enough to get this done? Maybe I could be a cheap whore and not swallow… maybe he’ll accept that. I sigh.

“I want you to eat-”

“Right. I’ve heard of you, you’re the guy who wants to be eaten alive and somehow survive it. Yeah, well, not happening.”

“Then no-”

“But I’ll hold you in my mouth… maybe once we get to know each other better we can go farther. Or perhaps we could just-”

“Sex got boring 200 years ago.”

“You’re doing it wrong if it got boring.”

“Besides, if you’re a crossroads demon, can’t you teleport out?” I blink. I hadn’t thought to try, Hell is meant to keep things in after all. And the more I think on it the less I believe I’m a crossroads demon, I don't have the right stomachs. 

“Too weak, too tired, also kinda need a body to do that once I’m there, would rather be smoke from the get go-“

“Then smoke here too.” I glare, this is quickly becoming a fustercluck. 

“Can’t get directions from you if I’m smoke.”

“You can just follo-“ Nope I’m done. 

“You know what, fine. I don't have time for this.” I grab Danto by the head and stand, other arm covering my stomach wound. I need to change shape, stop the blood. I’ll probably still be injured beneath the new layer but at least I won’t be leaving a trail. I can’t smoke here, the red is too noticeable. I start to run, Danto in my talons. 

“Which way out of the maze?”

“That way but-“

“And to a door?”

“Same way hanging right but-“

“Thanks. Here’s your reward.” I toss him in front of me and snap the crocodillian jaws over him. It’s so much easier to catch popcorn in your mouth when your jaws are so big. He squirms, and I have to resist the urge to chew and break his disgusting little neck. I just swallow. He gets stuck of course, this body is not meant for this. Luckily, breathing is optional. However now that he has no eyes on me I start once again to change form. I’m becoming tired, this is definitely draining my energy. I doubt I could change again if I tried. 

I go for speed again. Long long legs with paws meant for running, a tail for balance, arms lower to the ground, thick short neck. Before I change anything about my face though I have to deal with idiot pervert here. I briefly wonder if he was online enough to even know what his kink is called. I suppose it doesn’t matter. I swallow and it hurts. I am nowhere near big enough or elastic enough for this. He gets stuck further down in a disturbing parody of Crowley’s fight with Castiel’s mere days ago. I don’t have time to deal with this right now! 

It’s at this point that I come to the end of the maze and see the pits again, from the opposite side. I skid to a halt and back up, quickly rounding the corner and changing my head. Soon enough I have completed my transformation into a strange distortion of a human hellhound that can run on all fours as well as stand, a furless classical werewolf. I straighten and force myself through one last small change. I add a pelican’s throat. I feel the skin stretch and loosen as I concentrate.

Pelicans are fucking Terrifying. They will eat other birds whole and you can literally see them swallow while the other bird flails inside the transparent gullet. It is Highly disturbing. Still, it’s what I need right now, I can feel Danto squirming and freaking out. He is deeply regretting his afterlife choices right now. The idiot. He’s barely the size of an imp and-

The corridors behind me echo with a howl and a yell of frustration. 

“Chew Toy!”

Oop. Time to go. 

I quickly swallow one last time as I turn left and feel a thud. Ugh. This form is not meant for this and it feels so wrong. Snakes are meant to eat this way. Some birds are meant to eat this way. Godzilla is meant to eat this way. I am none of those things right now. Of course demon physiology doesn’t make sense, the curse doesn’t make sense, so maybe there’s space for seconds… If he fucking takes a shit or piss I will turn myself inside out and then rip him the fuck apart before gluing him back together with cum from his oversized fucking balls. 

I continue to walk along the railed edge of the pit, looking down as I pass by. It’s filled with demons of all shapes and sizes wielding torture implements of all shapes and sizes. The souls are in many states of ‘decay’. Some are very fresh, just starting out, still screaming at every poke and prod. They twist and turn, pleading and trying to escape from the talons, knives and worse being used to slowly push them toward a new state of being. 

Some are going numb like I did, flipping between that either normal or insane. The ones that are just starting are silent, withdrawn as they are sliced, cut, fucked, and toyed with. They are in their own minds only, an object most of the time except for brief moments of screaming and tears as they realize that these are the last moments they shall be themselves. They savor them, grip onto them no matter what is being done to them. Hoping they will remember who they are. They will, they just won’t care. 

The other numb ones are jumping between catatonic and a strange state of glee, their edges tinged with black. A very few are at the tail end, egging their torturers on, soul near oozing black smoke. 

One or two are the strange ones, the ones that wanted to be there since the beginning. The shining grey edges of their pure souls hiding their corruption beneath, their centers are a swirl of white. I blink, and all of them just look like humans again, no energy to be seen except the black smoke leaking from those about to change into demons. 

The floor is wet down there, perpetually slick with blood and other fluids, but mainly blood. Drains are spread throughout the floor, blood dripping to lower levels. Stairs lead down in one corner, it takes years upon years upon years to change a soul and new ones come in every day. One floor was not going to fit all of them. 

“Pretty sight isn’t it.” I jump at the voice and turn around. There is no one there. “Thanks for the acid bath by the way.” I blink. Right. Danto. I sigh. So gross. Hell is so weird. I feel like throwing up, despite being hungry. 

“Why…. would you even want...This is a fucking kink, right?” I feel him pause.

“It’s Hell, of course it’s a kink.” I shudder again. I tell myself I’m growing used to this. I’m not. I want him dead.

“ _Just kill him. He’s been an annoying gnat in my soup for years.”_

 _“After he shows me the door, Ranni.”_ But maybe I can get him into a different prison. A more intangible one. 

“Which way to the exit. I’m still dizzy from blood loss.”

“No. You aren’t a crossroads demon, you’re green.” I can feel him, relaxing, splashing. The fact that he’s comfortable there unnerves me. I need this to end. Besides, I’m hungry. I want him out so I can put something I can actually Eat in. Like blue cheese and an apple. Crowley didn’t like blue cheese, and I loved it. I can see Danto, like a parasite, stealing everything I eat, and it makes me furious. Every mental route I try to take away from him brings me back around.

“What’s it to you if I get myself killed?” C’mon, get scared, flee.

“I’ll have helped and I’ll be blamed, and decimated! You don’t want to get in trouble down here. You’re new, so I’ll tell you right off; the King doesn’t just kill you if you misbehave, he eats you. And you don’t go to the Empty after.” Don’t I fuckin know it, but I need to pretend to be alarmed. 

“ _You’re not a great actress.”_ I ignore my critic and make an attempt anyway. She’s not wrong though. I’ll play to that. 

“Yeah, well maybe I’d rather die like that than go to the Empty.”

“I don’t!” 

“Yeah, well it’s a bit too late for that.” The splashing in my gut stops. Good.

“What?”

“The fight I’m running from is with the King you idiot. So either we escape together or-“

I feel Danto immediately turn into black smoke and I stop walking so I can focus on the problem at hand, or stomach. Whatever. I grab at the smoke with my own and pull. He fights, frantic, as my form dissolves slightly to wrestle with the fleeing demon. I hold my hands on my mouth and nose, like that will actually help. If he escapes, he’ll tell people. I fly, and circle, and wrestle him into the other prison, right beside Ranni. I take a breath and keep walking as my two prisoners get acquainted. I sigh as I feel him leave my main stomach, thank god...the devil...Fuck I can’t thank anyone! ...Thank Gaia. Sure, why not.

“ _I know the little dick already.”_

_“Hey, there is one thing that isn’t small about me and - ...Ranni?”_

I gotta get rid of these two, this is unnerving. I have no need for torturing them, as long as I can get to the exit. 

“Where is the exit?” I pull at Danto, hoping he is less resilient than Ranni. I’m wrong. 

“ _No, you’re just bad at this.”_ I twitch. I’m done. Done being told I’m bad at this. I fucking know I’m bad at this. I’ve always been on the receiving end of these interrogations, Crowley prefers to pull info out of people more physically, he rarely puts them into a prison for interrogation alone. 

“ _Oh like you know what the king likes and doesn’t like.”_

_“She knows better than anyone Danto. She’s his pet, who escaped.”_

_“Wait, the Chew Toy is real?”_ The Chew Toy? I...I’m a rumor?

_“And she’s an assassin demon.”_

_“What? No. Those are just legends.”_

_“_ Pardon, I’m what?”

_“A shape changer demon. They are usually killed as soon as they come into being. After the knights disbanded and they had no captains they just made other demons nervous.”_

_“Yeah, and why haven’t I heard of them being about! Seen one come into being in the pits!”_

_“Because they are rare! Too many spies is never a good thing and Crowley especially doesn’t like them.”_

“Can’t you just find them with their name?”

_“Doesn’t make them any less dangerous. It’s why there is only one other.”_

“Let me guess, his name is Smoke.”

“ _How-“_ Ranni stops but it’s too late, she confirmed my suspicion. The head of Hell’s thieves guild is an assassin demon like me. Now I just have to find him. And about him. Is he a loyalist?

“ _Ha! Smokey ain’t loyal to n-“_

 _“Shut up Danto!”_ Hmmm, maybe I won’t just kill him. 

_“Wait, what!?”_ Shit, you can hear me think? “ _Yeah! Sometimes! What the fuck do you mean kill me!”_ Fuck, I’ll have to work on that.

_“She inherited a bit more than just red smoke from the king Danto, or did you not stop to think why you’re Stuck Here!”_

_“No! I was kinda fucking distracted Ranni!”_

_“The more useful you are to me, the longer you live Danto. Which way is the exit?”_

_“Don’t fucking tell her Danto! I swear to-“_

Ok, I am so fucking done with Ranni’s interference, and my disguise needs work. 

“ _What?”_

_“Well, one soul doesn’t exactly match the luster the King has anymore, now does it Ranni?”_

I grin and snap my fingers, putting all my will into the gesture. All my want for this bitch to shut the fuck up. All my desire for revenge on her for her taunts and how she looked down on me. I snap, and she explodes into sparkling ash inside that small prison. 

And it feels amazing, and painful. A tiny nuclear explosion inside me just like before, except I feel two small bursts of white light from her as she dies. Her own prisoners. They go up in the small explosion with her. I shudder as the small sparkling remains are swept away into my red smoke. I know her now. 

I know she had a crush, lust for Crowley. I know she wore that outfit not to please him but because it was an insult in her mind to the Catholic school she was sent to. I know she was greatly afraid not of dying but of failure. I know she watched many geeky things that she had thrust down into the back of her mind to put on a face of decorum and not ‘fangirl’ out in front of any one down here, because near everyone else was and she needed to stand out. I know she missed the feeling of excitement she got from being a fan. I know she had a box set of Firefly hidden away in her room. 

I know that Crowley had sent her to do smoke checks on every new demon not registered. That means I either need to leave, or take on someone’s form. I’d prefer the former. 

I know her two prisoners. A preppy young woman who used to be a cheerleader at her college, and that cheerleader’s ex boyfriend. They both bullied her. Ranni is...was fond of revenge. … There’s another one here too. I coulda sworn Ranni only had two but perhaps this one was hiding. Kinda familiar but really faded. Ron… There is so much information, I can’t go through it all. Three whole lives plus and a demon, that’s a lot of memory and emotion to go through. I try to parse through it, think about what I want, but it’s just too much; I can’t find anything on the exit, so much for that plan. 

I continue looking inward at the souls I have collected, destroyed, and realize I am one short. There is no hint of Robert Singer anywhere. Did I...just absorb him completely before I turned? Shouldn’t I still have knowledge of him? Perhaps because it was before I became a demon it was different? Maybe-

 _“Shit shit shit shit-“_ I sigh at my passenger’s panic. 

_“Shut up. Be useful, or be dinner.”_ Danto shudders, as best smoke can, and I can feel him decide to comply. I could hear his thoughts if I wanted, I have no interest in them right now though, if ever. 

_“Exit’s that way, straight ahead then right, then through-”_

I start walking. It’s not like he’s going anywhere. I walk down the hall next to pits, the x’s and t’s holding the living toys of so many demons. They would be on the other side eventually. Circle of death blah blah. My thoughts are broken by Danto’s mental query. 

“ _So how old are you?”_

 _“Enough, and not old enough. Also I don’t know anymore. At least 500 hundred I suppose.”_

_“And you said Sex is still interesting for you? I’m just turning two hundred and it’s boring.”_ I sigh as I glance around a corner before continuing on.

_“Danto, I haven’t had sex myself, with someone I chose, since I died. I have no idea if it’s still good or not, but when Crowley does anything, it’s never boring. If it is, he either doesn’t do it, or finds a way to make it interesting.”_

_“You must be the most interesting soul in existence if he kept-“_ I have to swallow my own laughter.

_“Hardly. I’m well trained, or I was until he broke his toy. He also just knows how to manipulate me.”_

_“And he’s not doing that now because…”_

_“Because he has nothing to hold over me any more. He was using my empathy to control me, and torture me. That’s fucking gone. God damn it feels nice.”_

_“Why not use your fears?”_

_“Too easy, gross, crass. He’d have to live with my memories and ptsd of the events cropping up and causing panic attacks. Also using fears or physical torture breaks the mind, what he does breaks the spirit. A mind can be fixed, spirit...much harder. Leaves your toy sane so they can be played with. Besides, holding the threat of fear over me, the knowledge that he Could, was enough. I became resigned to my fate quickly, I’m not a match for him in the long run, but I could make things difficult. He kept me in check with threats of what he’d do to others, make me participate in what he’d do.”_ Danto is silent and I chuckle. _“What, you really didn’t think the King of Hell wouldn’t be the most manipulative evil bastard in here?”_

_“He really is the strongest-”_

_“Not always, he got rid of them, or his…. Frenemies did. He’s not the strongest… wasn’t. He’s been the smartest for a long time though. If he wasn’t so strong Now I could actually pose a threat. Now, I’m just a fly. Can’t do what he’s doing without contracts, can’t do contracts without them going right to him. All custom contracts get sent to him for approval. Brilliant really, find out if anyone tries to copy him in no time flat. And I’ve been next to that level of evil brilliance for like 400 years. Don’t. Fuck. With. Me.”_

There is silence as we turn a corner, two demons in meat suits walking past eye me but continue on my way. I try not to look at them. I have no idea how powerful they are, who they are, anything about them. That doesn’t stop my stomach from reminding me it’s empty now. It’s so odd, it doesn’t ache like hunger, the more I think on it, the more it’s just like a constant reminder. God I hope cake or steak or something works for this. Man I could go for a burger.

_“Why, no, how are you hungry?”_

_“Inherited the King's curse.”_

_“You...what?”_

_“The crown’s curse.”_

_“Oh. Oh no. No, no food on earth will help that. You need sin-”_

_“Wait you aren’t hungry all the time?”_

_“No! Demon’s don’t get hungry unless we are In a meatsuit, and even then we Barely feel it. Eating is a-”_

_“Pleasureable kinky sin. So...cake won’t help?”_

_“....NO!”_

_“Dammit. I need souls. Fuck it. I may not need it but I WANT cake. Get you’re fucking taste outta my mouth.”_

_“Hey.”_

_“Shut up. If I need sin I’ll steal some fucking cake, or kill you if you piss me off enough. So shut up and tell me which way to go.”_ _  
_ _“...Left.”_

_“And how much farther?”_

_“One more turn and-”_ I freeze, ok. If it was just one more turn, then I needed to start now.

_“Start what?”_

_“Sorry Danto.”_

_“Wait! Wait!”_ I sigh and pause, my fingers ready to snap. 

_“Yes?”_

_“Don’t kill me.”_ I sigh.

_“I’m about to turn into smoke, I can’t take the risk you’ll try to leave-”_

_“If Crowley finds out I was part of this, he’ll kill me Right away.”_

_“You’re not wrong, and I should trust you not to leave because of this, why?”_

_“Uhm….”_

_“That’s what I thought.”_

_“Wait! Wait! I’ll…. I’ll keep you in the know about other demons!”_ That could actually be helpful… _“Right!”_ Fuck! I hate it when he can hear my thoughts! _“Sorry, sorry!”_

_“The moment you try to run, I will destroy you.”_

_“Right. Sure. Of course.”_

_“I’m fucking serious. I don’t need thumbs to do it in smoke form.”_ At least Crowley doesn’t, I shouldn’t either. Fuck, I hope he can’t hear this. I take a breath and grab onto Danto with my smoke, and take a running leap into the air. I continue moving, dissolving into an angry red miasma. Danto struggles for a hot second, confused, but then lets himself be pulled along. Good little pervert.

I rush around the corner, a pillar of red smoke with bits of black and white. For anyone paying attention, I am far too small to be the king. I cover Danto as best as I can, but even with his smoke covered thinly by mine, we are still too small. I’ll have to be quick.

Two guards stand in front of an iron door. They stand on either side like pillars, the armor on their human meat suits is modern but tastefully tan, lending to the vision of their immovable state. They are neither tall, nor squat. They have lithe muscles and are ready to stop anyone in their tracks not with force, but by throwing them around with years of training. However, they are armed with blades that will be useless against smoke.

The hot air whistles through me as I fly, buffeting pockets of smoke and throwing bits of soul around me like leaves. I am impossible to miss. I look like Crowley 300 years ago, hopefully the guards are stupid or unobservant... otherwise I am screwed.

They look at me, and stand at attention, one opening the door quickly as red smoke barrels through. Thank… fuck it, thank god for the red smoke. I rush toward the 12 foot tall iron door and as it creaks open in the heat the fresh air rushes in to meet me. The other side is bright, very bright, and leads to a pale cream hall right now. I’m almost there when a shadow fills it.

A familiar shadow.

Crowley.

He stands in the doorway, hands on hips, just waiting as I barrel toward him.

“Hello Chew Toy.” He opens his mouth and his own red smoke just starts to leave its home. His open mouth is cruel and red, a doorway to yet another hell. One I don’t want to return to. 

So I do it with barely a thought, but apparently enough for my passenger to hear. 

_“No! NO!”_

I fly up, toward the top of the door, and Fling Danto at Crowley. The black smoke hits the red storm and I slip above them in the tumbling mass of confusion as Crowley grabs the demon he thought would be me. I feel the last of Danto’s smoke being pulled away as he is sucked back into Crowley’s body.

I rush out the door above the familiar face and the confused guards. The space on the other side is a rather nice room that is covered in tan and gold with fluer de lis everywhere. The room is large, definitely large enough to echo the irate bark of a yell from behind me.

“Danto! You idi- She’s… Why should I even consider keeping you alive you little slut?! You couldn’t suck me off if you tri..”

It’s only then that I remember Danto knows about my shapeshifting abilities. I can only hope Crowley kills him quickly out of frustration and doesn’t parse Danto’s soul too much. If just 3 souls are hard to go through I can’t imagine what 20 or 40 must be like.

But I doubt it’ll pose a problem for him. So it’s time to leave.

“After her you morons!”

Definitely time to go. I rush through the halls, near barreling people over, all demons, I can tell. They emit an aura through whoever they are wearing, one I can feel. They can feel, and see me, too. Many look up, confused, a few are afraid, some just stand aside, there are a lot of demons here. This is a hub, I bet one of the courts I’ve been in is here. I have no time to think on it or explore however, so I look for a window or vent or chimney.

I feel a breeze behind me, a displacement of air. Crowley. He’s following me, only he is big enough to change air currents like that. I turn a sharp corner, then another. I can feel him getting closer. His rage and glee radiate like heat from the red storm of smoke. The Immortal Storm is coming. But like any storm, he moves slowly. Slow for a demon at least. 

I turn one more corner and finally spy a vent and rush through it, not caring where it goes. The twists and turns are sharp and I know I dent the metal, a few times. I travel for what must be minutes in the maze, and the pressure behind me decreases. Crowley isn’t following me. This is not the time to slow down though. I’m scorched by the laser cleaning system, diced by a fan, and if I had a body I’d piss myself when the shaft behind me is clean torn off. 

“Hello again Chew Toy.”

Fuck, he’d went and gotten his meat suit. Piece by piece the ventilation system is torn away behind me as I rush through it, each rip preceded by a snap. 

“Those two minutes didn’t do much good, did they? Just got you into more trouble.”

On the contrary, it gave us this merry chase. One that is leading me ever closer to freedom. I see a vent, one with light coming toward it and rush forward, eager to reach my freedom. I’m feet away when I slow down as a thought occurs. If I was Crowley, every vent to the outside would have a devil’s trap. The only reason he wouldn’t follow me in here to see which way I went out would be because he could herd me to a prison. It’s what I would do. I turn left at the last minute and hear a curse from the floor below. 

My joy at being right doesn’t last long. 

“Good to know we understand each other so we’ll Chew Toy. I know you even better now, with what Danto’s told me. Every choice imaginable and you didn’t even give yourself an ass or tits worth looking at. I’ll meet you at the front door.” He waves with a smirk and turns away, completely confident in his situation.

It’s my turn to curse. His new knowledge aside, that is where I was headed next. It’s the only place he wouldn’t ward, demons have to enter and exit somehow. And I hadn’t seen any windows. I circle the vents in anger. So close. So close to freedom. Goddamnit!

I could go back to hell, but he’d be checking smoke there, checking any new demons thoroughly. And although killing Ranni was very satisfying, it was risky. I could try to wrest control of a meat suit from another demon, but the fight would be obvious and he’d come down on me faster than I could make the demon a snack. I could try to find a rat, but I somehow doubt there will be any. 

And then I hear it, running water. There is one other place Crowley wouldn’t ward. Couldn’t ward, just in case a demon decided to actually eat in their suit. A place he had to include to make the building not stand out to humans who wandered in. A bathroom. 

I rush toward the sound of running water and burst out the vent to a very concerned and surprised demon who is washing their hands, and another at a urinal. I’d stay to admire, or perhaps make them uncomfortable, but I don’t have the luxury, I rush down a sink drain and into the sewers. 

I suppose once this would have disgusted me; the pipes, the slime, the refuse. I had lost all fear of it after 200 years being around the filth of Hell. Also, being intangible helps a bit, I can only hit things in this form, not take anything with me. I rush down the thin pipe and into ever wider ones. I carefully stay above the water. I doubt the chemicals and bacteria used break down the refuse and purify it will hurt me, but the glowing color does not tempt me to try. 

Despite my surroundings I rejoice, I’m free. I rush through tunnel after tunnel, turn corner after corner, fly until I find what I’m looking for. Light. A manhole cover. The single hole sends a pillar of light down into the sewer. It’s like a key hole and an apt metaphor right now as I slide through. Freedom. 

The sky is bright above, windy as usual, and clouds race each other towards some nameless goal. The streets are filled with people, and I hover low to the ground, streaking between cars until I find the curb. I lay close to it, in the gutter, and watch as my choices walk by like models on a runway. I don’t want someone noticeable, because I want to show off, and if I do I will have to kill them so I can’t be recognized by any facial recognition software, or DNA tagging. They need to not be missed. Of course I can’t know if the bum on the corner will be missed by the people who walk by every day, but there’s a lower chance of it being investigated. 

I finally decide on an older lady with grey hair and a pudgy face. She’s wearing worn down clothes and a shawl, one with holes. Hopefully that’s indicative of her being abandoned or alone. I snake through some feet, and paws, and quickly rush up her clothing, hiding my bright color from the world as I make an inhale far longer than she expected. I settle and after a few blinks Agnes, that’s her name, continues on her way. 

She knows the city, lived here for years, very lucky for me. She does however have a family, a poor family, but a family. However, one less mouth to feed will do them good, so, whatever. I follow her memories to the office of Holton, Eckerton, and Mr. and Mrs. Langley Esq, real subtle Crowley, and look in the bay windows.

Crowley stands inside, pointing, and angry. It’s been too long, something has happened. I look to make sure no one is coming, smile, and tap on the window. He turns around and rolls his eyes, then looks away. I look like a little old lady, unassuming, boring. I tap again, this time with one hand raised in a familiar position. He turns around once again, angry and ready to storm out at the interruption. He freezes as he sees my hands, ready to snap. I wink, and his face turns cold.

He’s beside me suddenly, outside with a thought, but we both freeze as the tap of footsteps echoes through the alley. I look past Crowley, and he turns. Two humans are walking, hand in hand, laughing. Normally, he’d just kill them, but they have hoverboards and a phone out in front of them, live streaming. I turn tail and run around the corner as he takes this in, trying to decide how much damage control it would take if he just made them explode.

“Che-Aunty!” His voice echoes and footsteps follow me quickly. The dead end I’ve turned into is brick, with a side door into the office. A dead end, an apt name, but it means nothing to someone who can teleport. I spin and raise my hand again just as Crowley skids into view. His face is a mixture of fury and anticipation as he walks forward.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have your bones.”

“Do you now? Don’t care. Remember, you do that, I get what I want. Away from you.” He blinks and curses.

“The Winchesters-”

“Are after me, of course they are-” I hunch over a bit as more footsteps get closer. Feuds didn’t matter, never mattered, as much as making sure average humans don’t know about demons. It’s almost automatic to try and hide. “Of course they are trying to find me, honey. They’re worried about their friend, but I want a little me time son. Tell the girls that for me, dearie.” Crowley pauses and then does a quick look behind him as the two boys pass on their boards, phone still in front and recording. They look down the alley as they pass, but continue on their way. Crowley fumes as he returns his gaze to me.

“You-”

“Yes yes, I know, but I’m still leaving. Come catch me...Fergus.” And I raise my hand.

“My name-“

“Whatever. I saw your true face right before I turned into this. I’m gonna go paint it. Send your red hairy head out to all the world. So send your demons after me, I’m hungry again. Ranni didn’t last very long.” His eye twitches at this, the demon he had been teaching for hundreds of years, dead by my hands. His demon, one he liked enough to not want dead, or at least kill himself if she disappointed. 

“Marbhaidh mi thu! Nighean na galla! Thu-”

I snap as the Scottish Gaelic, probably curses, reverberate off the brick.

And I’m gone.


	46. The Lands of the Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the artist makes some artsy mischief.

Cake. Fuck. I missed eating what I wanted. I’m not really hungry…. I mean I am...but it’s more of a reminder of emptiness than hunger. Of the insatiable curse I have. It’s annoying, but handleable. Another reason to stay in a meat suit. 

However, cake. And steak. The little old lady will not quite fit anymore, not with what I want to do. I wish I could change my form in a human host, it would make things so much easier. I needed to be younger, more ...attractive or maybe strong. Something that wouldn’t stand out eating cake, or steak, or tea. 

Wait tea… he took my love of coffee and tea, but tea sounds delicious. Did all my parts come back to me? Well except for the ones he destroyed accidentally. I do a quick inventory, it’ll be hard to know if anything is missing, but I feel fairly complete. Interesting. I once again say, magic is fucking weird. 

I walk through the streets of Russia. It’s a place I know little to nothing about, because Crowley never came here. The hardy boys rarely leave the states, so I should be safer here from them. I have some time for once, to just admire the world again. 

The buildings here are steel and stone, with clay or porcelain tops that are reminiscent of the old round designs. Places have tried to hold onto their culture, but it was difficult with the climate and economic change. The tops glow now, or shine, solar absorbers made of gel mimicking photosynthesis causing many of the tops to have a green tint. The weather is warmer here than when I was alive; winter here was still a thing to be reckoned with, but the rest of the year is... nice. 

I have no clue where I’m going. The maze of buildings gets taller, and more modern, the closer to the Earth Embassy Center and Capital. It’s a maze, I never know if I’m turning into an alley, or a bustling street. I stand in a lonely alley, pausing to look at my reflection. 

I sigh at the old lady staring back at me. Agnes would have to go, soon. I need a body that wouldn’t get stared at for eating obscene amounts of cake. ….Shit. I have no currency of Any type. 

I roll my eyes at the whispered attempts to comfort me by the old woman. She’s really comforting herself though. I can feel her feelings, very strongly in fact. I hadn’t noticed, but unless something was really intense...everything felt like a calm grey ocean. I kinda like it, I could see how after a few hundred years it might be boring. For me, after a few hundred years of Providing the intense emotions to someone, being pushed to limits so He could feel, grey is nice. Calm is nice. Even when I was angry at Danto, it was more… a fact than a feeling. I knew I would kill him, the disgusting little imp, it wasn’t really … I understand it I think. For humans, emotions are a journey where you arrive at a conclusion about an experience. For demons, you just get the conclusion. Now, if the conclusion made you angry you might feel something, but the journey… gone. 

Agnes is listening, feeling pity for my loss, treating me like a naive little thing. I’m older than you by a couple hundred _years_ lady and you can’t help me in this part of the world. Well, you can help in one way. 

I snap my fingers and she explodes. It’s a wonderful feeling, like the sky raining soft bits of tasty cloud. I’ll probably regret this when Crowley catches me and turns me human again… oh well. 

A thought strikes me and I realize I need to carve the hellhound blocking symbol into my flesh again. Well, someone’s flesh. And soon. I look once more in the window, what a waste of flesh, just changing bodies and leaving the old empty one for some cop or zombie, if I could just change it like I did in Hell, it’d be so much easier. I sigh, wishing for tighter skin and thicker muscles, looking at a face in a mirror that could be mine, could be anyones-

And pain wracks me. A very old, very familiar pain. Growing pains, aches that feel like you haven’t had enough water, that keep you awake when you try to sleep. I hold myself tightly and look around for anyone who might be watching, and luckily find I am alone. No one had seen my sudden lurch. I sigh, and look in the window, wondering what that was about, and stare.

My face stares back at me. My face. Mine. From when I was alive. I look down and all the clothes are far too tight, short, squat. The wrinkles gone, the grey hair, brown. I turn my hands over and look at them, they are my own. This is amazing, this is why assassin demons are feared. I was wondering why they were, it didn’t make sense. In Hell you could change into whatever, but you could still be killed with a well placed knife in that form. And why would you want recon on other demons? Well, I mean why would whoever created assassin demons want recon on other demons, they were in an army. Now, on Earth, changing to look like any human, get a little magic to hide the fact that you’re a demon. Bam. Spy on the angels. Spy on factions of demons with a bit more protection, look like their leader without killing anyone. After all, just killing your enemy, pffft. Destroy them from the inside out and eat them alive.

This is awesome, I can look like-shit I look like me. Crowley knows what I look like, I need to look like someone else. I look around and quickly cover my face, dashing to a corner to look at passersby. I take a look at faces, at bone structure, hair color, and make the most nondescript female I can, while holding the shawl over my face. I keep the brown hair, and the height, and my hands. I’ll always keep my hands, I know how to draw with these hands. And boy do I have some things to share with the world.

First however. Food. Steak, cake, cheese. Blue cheese and pears. 

  
  


……………………………………………………………………………………

Stealing is far too easy as a demon. It’s boring really. I sit in a little one bedroom apartment of some...whoever’s dead next to me. Their soul in my hand feels warm, frantic, sweet. Far sweeter than any of the other foods I’ve snapped into here after scouting the stores. 

The man was a gentleman; let me in out of the cold, given me some clothes that fit, satisfied all my needs, I don’t know how Danto thought sex got boring. He had asked me what I wanted to eat and I had pondered for a moment, a good moment, before realizing I really wanted him on the menu. So he sits in my hand, no good deed going unpunished, with me wondering how Crowley got used to swallowing light. If it burned going down, if it could try to fly away. I’d like to find out, but can I risk his escape? Do I want to keep this one alive a bit longer? He had a nice voice.

I’ve been just holding him in my hand for a good five minutes, pondering these things. It’s odd, but relaxing to be able to ponder without someone-

There is growling outside the door, familiar growling. Shit. I knew I forgot something. The sigil. I look at the soul in my hand, no time for questions now, and just snap him into the prison. Then I look sadly at the food I had gathered, wondering what I wanted to pair the boy with, fava beans chianti, blah blah, and sigh. I was looking forward to the ice wine and cheese and crackers. The door creaks and and it cracks I snap and vanish.

Paris. Paris has good cheese. I could go to Belgium. Belgian chocolate man. I sigh. I wasn’t this obsessed with food when I was alive. Fucking curse. I need to refocus. Sigil. I concentrate and pain covers my back, scars rising in the pattern of the hellhound protection sigil. Scars, not cuts, can’t bleed all over my new shirt. 

I look around at the buildings, the shiny metal, the stone streets, the glowing lights. Still the same and so different. Wait, Paris. The city of art. 

It takes me not five minutes to find an art supply shop, and but a few more for a bench in the park. Man, I missed this. I open the sketchbook and smile at the blank page. Oh Crowley, Mark Sheppard, King of Hell, let’s spread your faces all over world again. All of them. 

I put pencil to paper, and the rest of the world fades.

It’s dark when I look up again. I’m not satisfied with what I’ve made yet. Two sketches, then a bigger piece. I may want to take this digital. Either way, I can’t be out here at night drawing, in the dark, like I don’t need light to see. I need another place to stay. Ugh. At least I didn’t have to think about this shit while I was with Crowley. Wait, I can teleport. Duh. I need ambience, I stand and take a step, and snap, and step into Romania… It’s still dark. Shit. Right. Time Zones. Wait. No. There’s a friend of Crowley’s here. I’m about to bamf again when I realize I have no clue where this place is. I snap and… I look inward, Antony, I took Antony’s phone from his corpse back in Russia. I look up a map then break the phone in half in case Crowley could trace it. Shit I shouldn’t have taken it after the fact at all. Oh well. Likelihood Crowley’d catch me in time, not great. If he even set something up. Time to fuck up some ...let’s just fuck up some old plans. 

I bamf away to the castle of lore, Borgo Pass. Crowley hadn’t named the vampire directly, but there’s really only one famous one in Europe. Dracula. And I’m gonna fucking meet him. Dream of mine. Also, Crowley said he had an arrangement with the vampire. I’m not having luck creating right now, so let’s break something. 

I look at the crumbling building, the ramparts with moonlight streaming from behind, the old road leading up to it, and smile. Hundreds of years later, people still cared about heritage, or still feared this place. Superstition doesn’t die easily. I however, am not similarly fearful as I walk toward the looming gate.

As I make my way toward a legend I ponder another. Crowley. Our similarities, our differences, what he has made me into. For so long we wandered blindly into the future, his abilities unknown. The capabilities of the deal, foggy. We had finally reached a mountaintop, a vantage point, where we could see a bit more clearly. At least, I could. 

The fact that I could destroy pure souls, and he couldn’t still, meant only one thing. Robert’s deal with Dragoness, went a bit farther than just her not being able to destroy souls, it meant Crowley couldn’t. With or without her, he was unable to change a pure undamaged soul. Of course, that meant little, damaging, changing a soul, is not that difficult. One vampire bite, one werewolf scratch, a few years as a witch, torture, sharing a body with an angel or demon. There are so many things that can scar a person, natural things too. War, depression, PTSD, loss. The human mind, the human experience, is fragile, but were they enough to scar a soul? 

I suppose it depended on the person. 

Either way, it wouldn’t take much for Crowley to make a soul ‘edible’, but it felt amazing that I could do something he couldn’t. Made me all tingly inside. And he had lost his primary safety net, me. Of course as soon as he had figured out that the multiple pieces of soul he kept of mine applied to other full souls, multiple contracts were on the table. He still didn’t often keep more than one or two, too many was too noticeable. Besides, it’s not like anyone could do anything to them without him knowing. Kill them, they go to him. Try to steal their soul, he can move it where he wants, it's his. The main problem was the body, but whoever he had a contract with was either completely anonymous and remote, or heavily guarded. Both types were always checked in on regularly. In the rare event one of them got killed, well that’s what I was for. But heh, not anymore. I wonder if he’d replaced me? What he’ll do with that replacement when I got back. If. Eh. Let’s be honest, when. Still, I was that last line of protection from the Empty. The last in a myriad of souls that kept him tethered to this plane. 

Maybe he didn’t even need them anymore. Sure, to hide behind, use their souls to mitigate his demony traits, hide, whatever. But to be immortal? He might be that on his own now. No way he’d test it though. Oh well. 

I stare up at the oak door and rub my hands together, happily, and knock. Louder than any sound a human could cause the wood reverberates with the force I put behind it. Sad and hollow. I regret it immediately. I’m not sure I want whoever is inside to know I’m not human. I look around and pick up a rock, and use that to knock once more. The effect is similar to the force I exerted. I smile, and wait. 

And wait. I’m pretty sure this is the place. 

And grow quickly bored. I have less patience than Crowley when it comes to being disregarded or ignored. Fuck surprising them, I’m going in. I look up and with a thought am on the ramparts. I walk and take in the sight of the mountains and rolling trees beneath them. The moonlight hits the green sea beautifully, adding a froth of white foam or false snow to the tips of branches and tops of leaves. It’s wonderful. Crowley paused rarely to look at these things. He does on occasion, but mainly because he knew the unnamable overwhelming feeling of awe and lack of understanding would flood him through me. Of course, with the places he could go, it was easy to bring that sensation up. Now I can go to these places. I could photo… no. People would wonder how I got to some of these impossible places. Well, I could photograph them for me. 

I look to my right and start a bit. Beside me is a man in shorts, standing and looking out at the same green sea. His hair is short and black, cut in a widows peak. His face is angular and old, wrinkled but wise and imposing. His hands are in the pockets of khaki shorts and a polo top. I find my hands itch for pencil and paper again, and an idea springs to mind. 

“Beautiful isn’t it?”

“Yes… And you are?”

“That’s not important. What’s important is who you are, to be alone in such a place. Who are you out there, who are you in here? Are they different people? Was there a journey that gave you a reason to be here? Who are you to me?”

“If you say dinner I will punch you in the face. Besides, demon. Also, I’m… here to draw you, or your castle. May I?” The man shrugs and I snap my drawing materials into my hands and begin to sketch. 

“Demon blood tastes more bitter than human, but is no worse. It has more power though.” I look at him, this farce next to me. Calm. Sure. Eloquent, yes. Maybe even silver tongued. But he has no menace. No darkness to him, or not nearly enough. I find myself highly disappointed. 

“So… you are?”

“Samual.”

“Dracula? Vlad Tepesh?” The man chuckles and I frown as he moves, changing the angle. I erase the mouth and start again. 

“I’ve portrayed them, played a part for many a year, but no. The story is a story, and the hero of a nation remains only that.”

“Then where are his bones?”

“Stolen, to perpetuate a myth. I see you know a great deal. Were you a fan in life?”

“I’m a fan now.” The man looks at me, up and down, his face blank and unreadable. Then a smile graces it; conniving, cruel, and I can suddenly believe this vampire did indeed play this part for centuries. 

“Fan enough to join me for dinner?”

“How about we fight for it? Winner gets to eat.” The man throws back his head and laughs. 

“No. I know better than to fight a demon, let alone enter into a deal with one.”

I frown again as he moves, erasing the ears this time. It’s a rough sketch, almost done.

“Why the fuck are you wearing khakis? Not only does it not match your persona, but they went out of fashion over 400 years ago.”

“They have pockets. And it confuses people. If I don’t expect someone, don’t have someone I’m trying to make an impression on, the confusion gives a very good opening. Besides, it’s not October. It’s off season. I am very hungry.”

“Same.” At this he looks at me. 

“Demons… don’t get-“

“Cursed.”

“That’d do it. Any chance of a cure?”

“Nope. It was literally put into my being as I was created.”

“Well, I know what I want to eat. You?”

“Everything, with a side of souls.” He blinks and sighs, returning his gaze to the sea.

“I suppose now’s as good a time to die as any.”

“I- you’re fucking Dracula! Fight!” He shrugs. 

“Over 1,000 years old, I’m bored.” I look at him. He looks relaxed, but I can tell something is off. He is unmoving, unbreathing, unperturbed. I reach out as fast as I can towards his neck and my hand closes on empty air. I grin. A lie. He still wanted to live. 

“It’s a good thing I have no interest in eating your soul then.”

“Really? Then why did you reach for my neck?” I turn and look to my left where the vampire stands, same as before, looking out over the green ocean. 

“Had a feeling you were lying, wanted to see if I was right. So what do you do to keep the boredom at bay, if you don’t leave here?” I sit back down and start to add shading, pointedly making big motions with the pencil and hiding the piece from view. 

“The world is a large place, the internet doubly so. So many books, lives, and thoughts crammed into there. It’s fascinating. I’ve been reading scans of Sumerian tablets for the past few months.”

“You can read cuneiform?”

“It took a bit to learn, but yes.”

“I...why?”

“Why not?”

“I suppose that’s as good an answer as any? When was your last meal?”

“Two weeks ago. I-“

“How long can vampires last without food.”

“Depends on the vampire, depends on their age.”

“And you?”

“Have no inclination to tell you, lest I cheat myself out of a free meal.” 

“So a long time then.”

“Not necessarily. Should I quote too short a period, you may think me weak, and undeserving. Too long, your assistance unneeded. Far too long, and I may be a liar.” 

“Attempting to sow doubt in my mind?” I lean over the piece more, hiding it from view, scribbling furiously at the bottom, words that mean nothing, except that it looks important. I can feel his eyes on me, but he isn’t taking the bait. 

“What would you do, were you hungry and offered the opportunity of a meal that could kill you but seemed at the moment full of good will?”

“Trick and eat them. Trick and treat.”

“Not an option for me, I believe.”

“Unless you have a phone or two in your myriad of pockets. Called Crowley yet?”

“Not at all. Or maybe Minutes ago.”

“Is this who you are? This scheming articulate man, is this who you are when you’re alone? Or the face you wear when you hunt big game?”

“The face mainly, but I’ve worn it long enough for it to be a second skin, a facet more than a face or mask.”

“Then who are you?”

“A vampire who plays a role, and reads cuneiform tablets and watches football.” I roll my eyes and sign my name and rip the paper from the sketch book to hold it up to the vampire.

“Would you even take a drink from me if I offered it? It’d put you in a vulnerable position.” He blinks as he takes the sketch from me, ignoring the x-acto knife in my hand. A good way to get flat sides or pointier tips on pencils, it now glides over the top of my arm leaving the slightest trail of red. His eyes stop regarding the drawing and watch the red line appear. I hold it up and he shakes his head. He pauses and looks back at the drawing before dropping it to the ground.

“Passable, as is that cut. No, the neck or nothing.” I smirk at the comment and shake my head.

“And what do I get?”

“You’ve already gained your gift, the chance to draw me.” He’s fast. Faster than I can raise my hand to snap, but I expected this and don’t resist as teeth flash out and hands grab mine to pin fingers to my side unable to snap. There is no pre-amble after the pounce, no prideful boast or gloating. I’ll give him that, he’s smart enough not to waste time, he knows I’ll fight back within seconds to throw him off me.

It’s painful, the teeth are not sensual, not pleasing, not slow. They rip into the flesh but I don’t mind at all, I’m barely there. 

Red and slow, unlike his frenzy above, I’ve slipped from the body. It’s fighting now, weak but alive and soulless. Far sweeter without me there, and he can taste it. He reels back to look around, and that’s when I force him to continue to imbibe in red, though I feel it’s a meal he’d rather not have.

I laugh as I continue to hold strong the body that was mine a moment ago, I wasn’t ready to leave it just yet, and with a meal, I could probably heal it a bit. Lucky me, I have one here.

“Oh, you fall far short of my expectations. So easily outwitted. Still, I don’t have much time. You did call Crowley a good three minutes ago.” I pull at the vampire’s twisted soul and soon bathe in the shower of gray light. “Well, at least one of us got a meal I suppose.”

I hear growling once again and grin. I quickly turn the vampire’s neck, and am rewarded with a satisfying crack. It won’t kill him, but it will cause him pause for a moment. I rush back to the empty husk of the woman, her body starting to fail, her face starting to sag with age. As the vampire heals I pull my hands from his and finish the job with another twist. I drop the sketch on the dead vampire’s body watch as the paper floats down to land on his chest. The face on the paper pristine, and far more inviting than the actuality on the ground beside it, detached and staring. 

“Chew Toy!” 

The voice echoes in the courtyard, far too close. Time to go. One deed done, goal achieved, one thorn laid out for him to step on. I snap my art supplies, and an arm, into my grasp and then bamf away. 

Africa. A big place. One I know far too little about, to my shame. I know far too little about too many places. Too many cultures. Too many peoples. Time to change that. I have no clue where I have landed, just that I thought of the southernmost tip, warmth, and ocean. I look around at the beautiful scenery and people. Chocolate skin and smiling faces, hustle and bustle. The houses are colorful, many shades of brown and tan. Packed earth in hundreds of patterns showcasing the rammed earth style of housing that grew popular because of ready eco friendly materials and the jobs it created. However, the houses are still curved, rounded, and often shiny. Resin, metal, sometimes slip clay coated houses closer to the coast, protecting them from salt and high winds. There are no tall buildings here, not strictly. If it’s tall, it’s also big, always round, the circumference equal to the height. 

I walk, hair being blown in warm sun, neck quickly healing from the meat of the arm I’m eating in the shade away from any people, and once again find a bench and begin to sketch.

  
  
  


I curse at the paper. I curse at Crowley. I curse at my hands. I am out of practice. I can’t draw without reference anymore! Perhaps I am impatient. Either way, I am wholly unsatisfied with what I have created. I stand, angry and ready for distraction. As always now, I am hungry. I ignore it, and curse.

I have no goal other than creativity and satiating the curse. I cannot tempt souls to Hell, I have no ability to do contracts or send the tempted to those who do, lest I be found. I cannot assist Hell, I don’t know if I want to. I suppose I could travel, see things, bask in the glory that is nature. But it feels… empty with no one to share it with, brag to about it… I grin. I know what I want to do suddenly. 

Chaos. I want to create chaos. Subtle, beautiful, chaos with occasional bright flashes. I want to tear at his smallest corners or normalism and tear the certainty away from him. I set my supplies down with a rock on top, and walk. I walk for hours inland, enjoying the sun, thinking of the future, looking at locals, bamfing food into my hand from the occasional window, and a scarf to cover the blood on my neck. 

I walk until I find an alley with abundant trash cans. I look toward the recycling, full of more glass than ever now that plastic is gone, and grab a bottle. I sit down, break it and the sharp edges glint as I hold it up. 

And I slit my throat. 

It doesn’t matter for a demon, well the body is dead but I’m fine. I definitely don’t look it though. Front stained with red, eyes open, head tilted to a side, I wait. It takes barely a minute. 

“Heilige kak! Kak, kak! Fuck!” Heh, that one’s near universal. 

The young man stands over me, jeans and a micromesh shirt made for construction jobs. His face is round and his hair short, skin a dark shade made darker by the bulbous alley. The two houses on either side are two stories but with rounded edges, acceptable farther inland than the near perfect spheres near the coast. 

The young man kneels over me, hands hovering, eyes wide, mouth agape. And I fly into my new home. I push the soul aside immediately and take over, watching with mild interest as the body I inhabited warps and ages back to almost its original form. I ponder, does it draw constant energy from me to keep a shape? I suppose if I don’t eat, I’ll find out. However… I find that unlikely to happen. I snap and sigh, the feeling of warm rain falling on and through me as the soul explodes. Barely out of school and entering his first week of construction work. Oh well. He was secondary to what I wanted. I parse his memories and find what I want. 

They had survived. Libraries had survived. 

I walk through the streets of his town, listening to a language I now understand better thanks to him. It’s a pretty language, some words I can almost hear ringing faint hints of other languages. Goed, good, dankte, danke… and well. Fuck. 

“Fuck! Lethabo! Fucking hell! Lethabo wait!” Shit...That’s my body. I turn and see another younger man skid to a halt, hands on his knees and panting. “Leth, man. What the hell!? You were supposed to be back from… you look like hell.” I struggle not to smile at the apt wording and frown, then swallow.

“I...I saw. Just. Dead. She was dead.”

“What!? Did you… call the police?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“Dude!”

“I can’t remember! I saw it, and now I’m walking here and you came and…”

“Ok. Ok. Did you touch anything?”

“Fuck no!”

“Ok… Ok. Let me go take a look and-”

“Meet me at the library.”

“What? You… Why? You, have you ever even been to the library?”

“Exactly. Quiet place to talk, decide what to do. No one will be looking for us there.”

“...Right. Ok… Ok. Where was it?” 

“Alley...Next to Zinna’s.”

“Shit. Shit. Ok, fifteen minutes.” 

“Thanks Chris...” I pause ...Of course that’s his fucking name. Of course that’s a fucking South Afrikaans name. 

“Dude. You know I hate people shortening my name. Christo dude.” I flinch, of course. He stares at me. I flinch again, and then shudder and shake my head. 

“Yeah, I know. Just… anything to distract, y’know?” Christo stares, but nods and takes the bait.

“Yeah. I’ll be back in fifteen.”

“Thanks man.” I nod as he slaps my shoulder and turns to run. I smile, I can’t help it. I have a getaway car now. Lunch too. 

I turn and make my way to the library. It’s a round building, of course, but inlaid with beautiful colored glass windows. The inside is full, but not of books, books are expensive, space wise. Metal rods containing full series, anthologies, or even all the works by one author, line shelves. There are of course a few hundred books, classics mainly. I sigh. I’m not here for them, I may be someday, but now. I grin. 

Chaos. But good chaos requires planning ironically. I sit down at one of the computers and begin with a basic google search. 

“Today’s biggest artists.” I follow that with “Newest artist makes a splash.” Then “Big art sales.” I go on, and on, and on. Who today is selling the most, who is most widely known, whose works are being circulated, who is being looked at? Who is just starting out and has a wide enough range of mediums and styles to start with? 

I don’t recognize some mediums, that excites me more than anything. What had humans invented to make creating easier? ….Shit how expensive are oil paints now? Goddammit Crowley, I needed to know this shit and you didn’t care about it at all! 

I’m looking at a Pantarko Wang who is using a cranial insert to put his mind on papers when Christo returns. Ironically both will be dead shortly, one far sooner and due to highly demonic means, the other… well, you shouldn’t insert shit into your brain. But hey, suffer for your art. 

“Leth...Shit. We gotta call the cops man.” I nod and stand. He leans over and looks at the computer. “The hell...Wang? I didn’t know you were into art. His shit is expensive.”

“Just distracting my mind until you returned my friend.” He looks at me strangely and I quickly put a somber expression on my face and sigh then nod. “Let’s go, we’ll call when we get there.”

“Why not now?”

“Because… if they find us via our phones it will be less suspicious than if we are there and call.”

“I… Yeah. Ok.” 

We walk, in silence, for a good while. Christo now the one in shock, meanwhile I am trying to figure out the best way to dispose of the body I currently wear and obtain the new one I wish to wear. 

“So…. how did you find her?” I blink myself out of my thoughts and walk a moment silent. 

“Just… lying there. Red and pale. Glass bottle in her hand.”

“Do you think she did it herself?”

“No clue… didn’t stay to really look.”

“Well there’s blood on the glass, so she either did it herself, or the person who did has a rather bad wound. If they got hit there should be blood drops and shit, but there aren’t.” I blink, and search the soul bits of Leth. So, Christo liked cop dramas. Well then. 

“Who would have thought watching all those old cop dramas would come in handy, eh?” Christo chuckles.

“Yeah. I wish they hadn’t. Not like this I mean.” I nod in agreement and we once again fall into silence. 

We turn down the alley about seven minutes later and stand in front of the corpse. It has grown paler in the last half hour or so, blood still dripping from its throat sluggishly. I look at it, unfeeling, at Christo shudders. 

“That… is not cool. Ok, who… who is calling them?”

“Who?” Christo stares at me… at Leth, incredulously, and then with concern. 

“The police man. Are you ok?”

“No really. I’m… super hungry.”

“What? That… What? Not the time!” I just look at Christo and shake my head. 

“It’s always the time, it really sucks that it feels this way.”

“What?”

“I’m tired of it.”

“You’re-” And with a concealed snap Leth’s neck makes a cruel imitation of the sound his thumb just made against his palm. And we fall. And Christo freezes.

“The… What. The fuck?! WHAT! FUCK!” I rush as red smoke into the screaming mouth and down into his every atom. I shake my new head, wiggle my new fingers, and with a thought I’m off to Hong Kong.

Hong Kong has changed the most, and the least, in the past centuries. It still had tall buildings, made of silicon and glass and metal, but every one looked like a giant nondescript, pole with windows. Winds are very high here, next to the ocean, and after one half of the city burned during the wildfires that literally ate the fumes in the air, well, they changed. They had to. 

No cars here, just bikes, pedal or electronic. I walk, surrounded by people, getting a few looks for my dark complection. I’d change it soon enough. I take out Christo’s phone and get a twinge in the back of my mind. 

_“Hey! Who the fuck are you?!”_

_“The demon who killed the woman, your friend, and now you. Shush.”_ I snap and my entire body is wracked with delicious pain, it feels warm and makes my body tingle as if nails were being drawn down my back. Christo screams, I forget that others don’t have my tolerance, not when I was a soul, and certainly not now as a demon. I stop the pain. _“I said quiet. Make a peep and I’ll tear you apart. You’re lucky I’m keeping you around, unlike anyone else. And before you ask why, because I fucking feel like it. So, quiet. We can talk later. But first.”_ I reach into him, and think on what I want, phone password. I search, and demand, and moments later pull out a word. 

‘Sir3n.’ I enter it and open the GPS to Pantarko Wang studios. It’s a good walk, but I don’t mind. Many demons would just teleport, but I haven’t gotten to walk anywhere under my own free will or want for hundreds of years, so I savor each step. I think about what I’ll create with this new tech, if I’ll like it. I’d always been frustrated by inability to put what is in my head on paper, I’m just not quite good enough. Needed more practice.

I, we, reach the building not too long after. The door at the bottom is gold, inlaid with the name Wang and ugly ugly patterns of mouths. It does however, open with ease. The entire first floor is a gallery, filled with photo realistic….garbage. Everything looks great, and has absolutely no good lighting, no… feeling to it. Like each piece is clinical. Sure, it’s a style. I just happen to hate it. 

I look around for the man in the picture. The gallery has many people… well many people for a gallery. So like… 10. Still, none are him. Crap. 

_“He’s upstairs right now.”_ I pause and look inward. Christo… How does he know this? _“Interview went viral a few weeks ago. He drinks wine and paints every day at like… 1 pm.”_

_“Well well, you might be useful. Perhaps I’ll keep you… kinda like Crowley did me… Well, with less torture.”_

_“Wha...what?”_

_“What, less torture doesn’t sound good?”_ I chuckle inwardly at the sudden frantic backtracking. I look around for a door, and then stop. Duh. I think, and bamf upstairs, right next to the artist. He doesn’t see me, he doesn’t see anything. The contraption on his head covers it completely. The screen it’s attached to is what catches my attention. Wang is searching for images of the serengeti. It seems he’s been looking at hundred of thousands of them, very quickly, but every once in a while he pauses, and regards one closely. I wait, and watch. Finally, the screen goes white and stays white for a good few moments.

Then I watch in absolute disgust as images, or his distorted memories of them, fill the screen. A wildebeest, flat and boring, stands under a tree, also flat and boring, from another image, amid wildly waving grass from yet a third. It looks super realistic, and flat. 

I’m furious. All he’s doing is using this amazing tech to do a hopped up edition of Photoshop! Well, I can fucking do that too. And I can do it better. I take the phone out of Christo’s pocket, and throw it across the room onto the very white boring couch. 

_“Move from this spot, and I kill you far more painfully than I was going to. Do we have an accord?”_

_“Ye-yes.”_

_“Good boy.”_ I flow from the body and into the nose of this other false artist. He jerks as I do, and I laugh mentally. Twitchy little thing. I settle and look at his canvas through my mind, ignoring him completely. He’s a disgusting imp, not worth my time. Less than Danto, he’s a charlatan, using other’s hard made art and photography to make his own, and Not letting people know that he is using other people’s images, in fact encouraging the lie that everything is from his own mind and his alone. 

The job of an artist is to lie, that’s what art half is, beautiful lies. But not like this. Not without purpose. I look at his art and wipe it clean, feeling the slightest bit of protest. I curse, and snap my fingers. I had forgotten, in my anger, my preventative measures. Christo freezes behind me, I can hear the muffled cry from his startled form. Whether he had started to move, and deserved punishment, well, I’d see when I left this body.

I know demons seem to prefer one body, but I cannot afford that luxury. I’m on the run. Even changing its form means little when DNA registry is near universal. I just wish they didn’t go to waste so easily… I never thought to ask what Crowley did with his left over bodies, I know he didn’t eat them...all. A question for the next time I see him I suppose.

I return my attention to the screen, and with a thought a myriad of lines appear, the simplest thing you can do in photoshop. I add some realistic drops of blood, some shading, which all of his art sorely lacked, and I’m done. If he had even been taking full pieces and removing the shading, I’d have been impressed, but no. I can feel it in his head, the lack of shading is just the mental degradation, the lack of memory when he ‘copied’ an image. Completely unintentional, and then it became a known aspect of his style. 

That’s something you tell people in an interview, not hide. It’s a quirk, it’s fun, it makes you relatable. This guy had the latest equipment, bought from a simple lottery win in the stock market, and he was using it for this. And lying about it and his methods. I hate him with a passion. 

I look at the screen, think print, and then I tear out of the body with his soul in tow screaming and whining. I barely listen as I slam back into Christo. He hadn’t moved, the smart lad. 

I throw Wang into the tumultuous red prison and snap my fingers, destroying him with a thought and sweeping the fragments aside, not wanting to think or feel anything from this amateur with no aspirations of self betterment. 

I watch as the body squirms in anger, tears at the apparatus on its head, and grin. You know what, I’ll leave him alive, let him destroy his own reputation. Sure, it’ll leave a bit of a trail for Crowley, but hey, where's the fun if you do everything perfectly. I am the model of the stupid super villain, leaving clues for the hero. Only there is no hero here, just a hunter and the hunted. 

This will be fun. 

And I bamf away to the next artist. To more chaos.

  



	47. The Exhibition Tour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are dreams, ideas, and art.

"Everything is going to be fine."

"Right, yeah, because shit always goes smoothly for me."

My friend and I sit on the veranda of the wedding venue, sipping cider, waiting for the ceremony to commence. This should be one of the happiest days of my life; instead, I'm dreading the guest list. And the one name not on it.

Crowley.

"Bec, it'll be fine."

"Uhuh."

"You know what would help?"

"More cider?"

"More cider."

My good friend, my bridesmaid, my fellow artist and writer, a string keeping my sanity tied to this plane and not to hell, walks out to grab more cider. I stare at the wall. My dress is perfect, white with color in the crimped wrinkles. The weather is perfect. Warm and sunny with some clouds and a light breeze. The venue is perfect, an open church and a pretty nearby field with a stone floor and an old house nearby. The food will be amazing.

I'm nervous as fuck. I mean, it's my wedding day, I'd be nervous as fuck if it weren't for Crowley, but still. If he shows up. He hadn't been in my head for at least a year or so now, so he didn't know the wedding was happening, not from me. I'm not worried about him stopping it, no. He approved. Of course, he'd approve if I had a hundred one night stands for the rest of my life. Both could easily be used by him. A hundred one night stands would mean I'm more likely to let slip something about the contract, mess up and talk about something I shouldn't, get myself killed by meeting with the wrong person, damn every other soul I met if Crowley decided to visit. One guy meant he could torture me with threats, manipulate me, come back after the love of my life had helped bring me back from the brink of insanity to tear me down again. One guy meant I could keep him safe, knowing how to lie to him, and not damn him along with me while hopefully keeping myself sane.

Hopefully.

Crowley had yet to possess him, I'm unsure why. I have a feeling because possessing Me and having me do things to upset my soon to be husband would be far more rewarding in the long run. Not that I always needed the help. Forgetful, moving too fast, unthinking, and Crowley Loved to bring up my failings. Unfortunately for him there is literally only one thing I hide from my husband that he has to work with, and that's himself. Talking is the key to a good relationship, so I hide very little. If he ever made good on his threat to make me cheat on my boyfriend, we'd talk it out. However, that would be so extremely out of character it would raise suspicion, not a good thing.

I should have Made him put something in the contract about him not interfering with my loved ones, my family. But I was foolish, or perhaps we just .... knew he wouldn't do it to any damning extreme. An unspoken agreement between us was there. He didn't fuck with my family and friends, I didn't go and spill information that could muck up his plans. Because I would, I will damn myself in an instant if he tries to hurt my family.

I take a sip of cider and sigh. Yup. Perfect wedding day. Woo.

"Hey I have the cider...darling."

I freeze, drink halfway to my lips again. My friend did not use that word. I turn, and her face is a cruel grin that does not fit her demeanor.

"Get the fuck out of her Crowley."

"But I didn't get an invitation, so I'm crashing."

"You didn't get an invitation because you're not possessing a friend or a family member to get in and you can't show up as fucking Mark Sheppard. So get the fuck out of her."

"No."

"Crowley. It's my fucking wedding day, I swear to God, if you-"

"What. What will you do?" I glare.

"Christo." He flinches. "Christo." He flinches again. "There are priests here, there are people here who are devout Christians who WILL know what that flinch means. Nothing here may be able to Kill you, but it will hurt, and it Will reveal you and you Will have to clean up and it Will end up violating something in our contract and I WILL go to the angels and tell them shit as soon that contract is null and void. So get the FUCK out of her. If you MUST stay, go find a caterer and shut the fuck up." My friend's face has been stony, and growing colder while I talk. He stands silent, then nods, a slight smile sending chills up my spine.

"Very well. I'll even wipe her memory for you."

"You fucking better."

"Giving me orders now are we."

"My. Wedding. Day. Crowley. I will fuck you up."

"Please try."

"You really think I haven't put hidden precautions throughout the entire venue?" He blinks, then the smile grows. I continue before he has a chance to make some sort of comment. "Get. The Fuck. OUT!" Red smoke billows out of my friend as my eye twitches ever so slightly. It rushes across the ground and I feel another chill rush up my spine. What if he possesses me right now? On my fucking wedding day? The smoke rushes out the door and I breathe a sigh of relief. Now I just have to hope he listens and doesn't possess a friend or family member.

In the meantime I rush over to my friend and put my hand on her shoulder, she blinks dazedly and stares at me.

"Honey, you look like you saw a ghost. Don't tell me this place is haunted."

"Not that I know of. I hope." Other things... Like the King of Hell...mmmm. She was a fan of the show too. Crowley was gonna have to be careful. I sigh. I was gonna have to break out the party favors early.

............................................................

"No, I can't put one on. I want all my bridesmaids to wear one though."

"These are cute, what are they from?"

"They are super weird."

"Becca is super weird, what did you expect?"

"True."

I roll my eyes at my bridesmaids. It feels good to have my friends here. I look at all the little temporary tattoos, tiny anti-possession symbols. I can't wear one, it'd violate the contract.

"C'mon, put one on."

"Yeah, we need to match."

"Unless you wanna get possessed." Hell no, but I don't get a choice. However... It could fucking scare Crowley. I grin.

"Fine." I take one of the tattoos and place it on my shoulder, wetting it and holding it there for a moment. My friends cheer and I chuckle.

"Everyone got their water guns?" They all grin and cock them. "Everyone got their bouquets to hide them in?" They all nod and set about hiding the water guns in the bouquets. I wasn't kidding when I said there were traps for Crowley. While they set about that I peel off the wet paper of the temp tattoo and scratch it a bit, rendering the symbol completely worthless. I sigh. That something as simple as this could work for me, but the moment I use it, I'm damned, and everything I hold power with over him, goes away.

"Hey, it's time."

"Let's get this over with so I can get out of these shoes."

"Hey, not my fault, I had a lenient dress code. I suggested sneakers underneath those dresses."

"I'm wearing a suit."

"And you're wearing comfortable shoes. Let's go.

I stand back behind the others, watching them go, and take a big breath. Today was a great day, today IS a great day. Crowley or not, it's a great day.

"Ready?" I look at my Dad as I step out of the room. Suit and tie, I can almost see what he looked like when I was a kid, dark black short hair, slightly less wrinkled face, but still a smile. We fight, we fight a lot, but family does that. And he has a smile for me today, when I need it, he has a smile.

"No."

"Having second thoughts? Are you ok?"

"I'm anxious, walking in front of people. Talking in front of people. This is a performance, I'm not the actor in this family." My Dad smiles, and takes my arm.

"Action-"

"Alleviates anxiety. Yeah. Let's do this. "

I stand at the back of the line, watching the pairs dance forward and can't help but grin. Smiling faces, a warm day, my friends, and the music. As the last pair parts at the top the music switches to "Eve of the War." I see my husband to be at the top, smiling a huge grin, and I know it's time. It's ridiculous, silly, and wonderful as my father and I walk up the aisle.

'The chances of anything coming from mars, are a million to one, but still they co-ome.' My foot hits the dais as the note fades and people giggle. But my husband helps me up, and I hold his hands and we grin stupidly at each other. He’s hot, I’m hot, it’s warm and the sun shines off the sweat on his brow. His beard is trimmed and slightly red, his long infuriatingly perfect curly hair lays on his back in beautiful rings. We stand and smile and time stops for a half second while I’m no longer nervous. While we stand in front of a crowd and proclaim ourselves for who we are, together.

"You make a darling couple, shall we begin?" And I twitch. He wouldn't. I look at the pastor and he smiles, grins, and I fume. Of course he would. Fucker. You know what, whatever, this is gonna be hilarious, he has No idea what's in store. So I smile and nod, and return my gaze to my fiance. The man I now need to keep by my side not just because he keeps me sane, but because the moment he's not family, he's fair game to Crowley. Crowley doesn't Want attention drawn to me, so as long as this man is close, his death will bring unwanted attention. So I'm keeping this man close. Hopefully it won’t put him in too much danger.

The words from Crowley sound like the buzzing of bees, and they mean nothing to me except the mild threat of a future sting. I hold my fiancé’s hands and smile, knowing we will keep each other safe and sane, or die trying. The ceremony ends with the traditional ‘I Do,’ and kiss… and I smile widely as cold water hits me. 

It feels wonderful in the heat and the laughter from my friends feels just as good. I turn with my husband and we hold our hands up, the cold water changing the color of the temperature sensitive dye in our outfits. Custom made of cheap cloth, they were fairly simple, except for the hidden clear designs on them I had painted. The cold water reveals them, painting us with color, we become a sky, a patchwork of color and clouds as we walk, our groomsmen and bridesmaids having more and more trouble hitting us with water as we get farther away. I turn and my grin grows even wider as I see the priest flinch, some of the water having landed on his hand, and burning slightly. His church had blessed it not a day earlier after all. I wave back and they cheer and the priest plasters a smile on his own face as well, hand behind his back as he steps a bit farther away. I grin at him and wink and I can see him barely contain his displeasure. 

I walk away with my husband, soaked with holy water, and squeeze his hand. This would be a fun evening. 

***************************************************************

The ring of glass echoes around the room through the amps. Heads turn as my husband’s brother stands up. The speech from the best man. 

I smile at my husband's brother and he grins at me, and then winks before looking out over the audience. Chills run down my spine, this was not a man who winked. Crowley didn’t really either, but… it was too out of character to not mean something. I swallow, then swallow some more of my drink and grab my husband’s hand and squeeze. Thankfully I had given my bridal party tattoos… and the one who would have given the speech was a fan of the show, she wouldn’t mess up the tattoo just for the fun of pretending it was important. I had given her daughter one too… just in case.

I watch as friends and family turn to my husband's brother, and swallow. My heart fills with dread.

“For those who don’t know me, I’m the groom’s brother. Now before we get much further I’d like to show you all something.” I swallow as his head begins to turn to the right to look at me, and then my husband, and then the screen behind us, and then further...and further.

The snap resounds in my ears as the body falls and hits the ground and I scream. I sit up as the scream leaves my mouth, falling off the couch onto squishy red stained carpet. I breathe for a second, calming down. I had had dinner at some unnamed mortal’s place and laid down on their couch, deciding I deserved a break from running. And then This fucking thing.

So this is why demon’s don’t sleep…. Maybe. Maybe it was just a nightmare. After all, the wedding went fine. Crowley gave the full speech, changing little except some private jabs only I would understand. That was the point. I spent the entire speech waiting for something horrible, by the end my stomach was in knots. I could barely eat for an hour. I snarl and push myself off the floor. My wedding, a lifetime, no, more than a lifetime ago. Like … five lifetimes ago. I hope my husband is ok. He better fucking be away in heaven and not near any of this shit. He’s MINE, if only because of that fact I will fuck up all of Crowley’s plans if I find he went near my family. Love is immaterial, as are their past relations to me. Just the fact that Crowley would mess with them to get to me pisses me off to no end. Especially since I am a demon now, and couldn’t get to heaven. Not for at least 100 years depending on how many people I killed. Too much too quickly would bring attention to me. That wouldn’t do. Not with the tech humans had today. I sigh. I should have put that in our contract, him leaving my family alone, even if that meant squat now. I didn’t want to go back to him and have to sit by Any family member and watch them get destroyed. I’m not gonna do it myself, I don’t want their memories and opinions of me floating around in my head. I don’t need any epiphanies about them or myself right now. If he did destroy them Now… well, I don’t think any of them know anything about me I don’t already know, I know most of their opinions about me too. I don’t like surrounding myself with people who lie about how they feel about me, it inhibits personal growth. 

I suppose he can’t really use them against me except for the fact that I don’t want Him to have them. The idea of them with him in any capacity irks me, especially when I worked so hard when I was alive to keep them out of it. All my hard work, manipulation, sacrifice, down the drain. Of course, he has No idea I feel this way. Demons don’t usually give a shit about their past life. The only reason I do is because I was already entangled with Hell Long before my death. The dance we did, Crowley and I, was a work of Fucking Art, and him diving into my past right now would ruin our current steps and rhythm.

Is there anything I can really do to fuck up his plans? Steer him so he doesn’t think to try and use anything from my past to steer me?

Crowley, I’m pretty sure even without the contracts, is immortal with that many souls. Although the contract prevents him going to the Empty… I could tell people how it worked, the exact phrases that allow it and how to separate a soul… but perhaps that was something only Crowley could do… I couldn’t test it. I’d need a contract. Not my thing, not a crossroad’s demon… and not interested anyway. If I die and go to the empty, Crowley will get me back, even if I wanted to stay. After all, he didn’t want the ruler of the Empty knowing how the contract worked either. He’d kill anyone who found out how the contract worked… and interfered. Greater entities, God, didn’t care, or did but was watching the play he wrote unfold and he didn’t want to interfere. As long as too many people didn’t know…

Didn’t know… I grin. Let’s give Crowley some recognition.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The next artist I commandeer is much more to my liking. Digital painting, that I understood. It took me hours of combing the internet to find someone who still used it, and had an art gallery or show coming up, and was well known. I sigh. Seriously. Everyone used 3D painting now. Sure, 2d was still valid, but after websites went 3D with a VR or holo system in every home, 2d became super less common. Of course, billboards and books never went away, or paintings hanging on a wall, so… 

I laugh to myself as I walk through the streets of Hawaii. I remember when VR first went small, common place. It took all of a week for it to be banned. Fifty people of the 150 people test group walked into fucking traffic. I mean, Duh. Even Crowley didn’t put his hand in that pie, it was so obviously a bad idea. Idiots. 

I shake my head as I look at the small studio in front of me. Lena Caroti, her studio was digital. 2d works in a 3D online space. Perfect for me. She didn’t like physical company, preferred to stay away from people. Well, she was about to get real close. 

“ _What are you going to do to her?”_ I roll my eyes at Christo’s question. The poor little boy was silent most of the time. Traumatized by the blood, and destruction of souls, he had seen in the regular. I am constantly hungry, I had learned to ignore it, mostly. He could tell however, that it was a near random thing that kept him alive, and that he’d eventually be eaten away, slowly. 

“ _Are you going to kill her?”_

 _“I don’t fucking know. It’ll depend on her and how easy I can block out her memory, or push her down, or knock her out. I don’t want to leave bodies, but I don’t want to leave too much information. Hmmm.”_ I can’t take her soul out into another persons body, not while they are inhabiting it… maybe even if it’s empty. I don’t have a contract saying I can. I can bring her with me to trap her in my smoke, my prison… but if I left her she’d probably flee back to her own body. 

Now a jar however….

  
  


Two hours later I’m at her computer, in her body, drawing. Christo holds a jar that glows brightly with a soul bouncing around inside. He sits very still on the couch nearby. He had been told that if that soul escapes and enters her body, she gets eaten. 

“But why spare her?” I pause with the stylus inches from the touch screen. 

“So there isn’t a pattern for him to follow and it gets confusing. If I leave a pattern he’ll figure it out. He’ll also know how many souls I’m destroying, and I want him to underestimate me, however unlikely that is.”

My friend’s next comment is interrupted by thunder. A storm was moving in when we came and now it had arrived. Walking through the warm streets being bustled by wind so strong I could hear it in my ears had been exquisite. Feeling it against skin directly, not through someone, a full sensation. I had missed that, the warmth cut by cold wind, the ability to look at clouds as I wanted, not follow someone else’s gaze. 

Thunder cracks again outside, sporadic bits of sun undermining the heavy fear such sounds should cause. I sigh, enjoying the atmosphere as I paint and draw with a stylus far beyond what I used for my art when I was alive. My dream had given me inspiration. Memories. Let’s bring some memories to life. 

His form emerges from the digital paper slowly, arduously. Like painful labor I give birth to this creation, of course any art directly involving him would be painful. It had been too long, l am out of practice. No matter the body or knowledge of the person I am inhabiting. Still, the memory eventually comes into existence. 

“Hey Chris, would you look up info on Pantarko and his newest art piece? See if there are any photos of the scene or the buyer.” I can feel his nervousness at the way I am asking. ‘Would you.’ Not very evil, well, I have a way of speaking, and I’m not going to change it just because it makes him nervous. In fact, I think I’ll keep speaking that way.

“How do you know there will be a buyer?”

“Just do it.” 

We sit in silence amidst the storm outside. The faint sound of movement behind me barely a whisper against the thunder. As he searches, I draw, the pale red demonic form menacing even though it is unfinished. 

“Uhm. It sold for $7,000.”

“Of course it did. It was a shitty piece of work but was completely unlike anything he had done before. What of Wang?”

“Uh, he’s in jail. Destroyed his implant and went down and started trashing his art.”

“Heh, of course. Fucking poser. Any info on the buyer?”

“A woman from a museum.” So not Crowley… probably.

“Any pics of Wang being arrested?”

“Tons.”

“Search for an image of a man named Mark Sheppard and see if any one who looks like him is in the crowd please.”

“Uhm.” I pause my drawing and turn to look at him. His frail frame shaking, his dark skin pale, his eyes scared, and smile. Pitiful, to show fear in front of your enemy like that. Admit your fear, don’t show it. 

“Do. It. To do it myself I’d have to stop drawing. I don’t want to stop drawing. I’ll get angry.” I hear shifting behind me at that and smile. Smart lad. Any time I’m not concentrating on something else, the fucking curse rears its head. I am however, used to it. I was often hungry when I did art, not because of any lack of food, but because if I stopped drawing I’d lose my flow, so I would just not eat. So, I can ignore it.  
  


I’m working on the background now. The scarlet sky mimicking bits of fire in the front, I play with the clouds and am happy to find appropriate brushes for making them. I squish the background I made, angle it so there is more room for the menacing sky. The piece is coming together, but it is missing something. I think back on the experience and chuckle. Right, that happened. I set digital brush to electric screen and begin to draw hands.

“Uh, nothing there. Who was the guy-” Christo’s voice cuts through my thoughts and I stiffen, but breathe and turn. Calm. Don’t kill the messenger, or the secretary. 

“Someone whom if you ever meet, will do far worse to you than I ever would think of. So, watch out for him, and if you see him, tell me. Like right fucking away. Got it?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Thank you for your enthusiasm. Go raid the fridge. Oh, and if you try to call for help, or tell anyone about me-”

“You’ll kill me. I know.” Interrupts Christo as he walks to the kitchen. I smile. He was already accepting the situation. Humans, adapting. Like I did. I’ll be sure to kill him before Crowley gets him, a small favor. Like I would share anyway. I had to share everything for 100’s of years, it was high time to be a bit selfish.

“Pfft. No. Killing ends your pain, no. I’ll pay a visit to your home town though. So be smart, get something to eat, and look at memes quietly.”

Silence is broken by thunder and rain. Christo gets my point. I wouldn’t actually go back to his town though, no. I’m not going to return to any place I had been just in case I had left a trace. Utensils clink behind me and the smell of yogurt fills the air. I continue to draw.

Near fourteen hours later I’m done. Satisfied. Time to debut the piece. I log in to her digital gallery and upload the piece. Hang it on a wall next to some abstract work in the virtual museum. I tap my chin. What to call it? Just… Crowley is far too obvious. Hmmmm. I type in the name and it appears on the little plaque to the right of the newly hanging piece of art. “A Little Bit of Hell.” I smile, this would catch his attention. I press the open button and the gallery reopens with the new piece setup for the virtual viewers to walk around and gaze at.

I quickly log off the computer and clean up the work station. A few candy wrappers, a bit of burger, and whatever alcohol she had needs to be cleaned up. 

“C’mon Chris-”

“My name’s Christo.” I flinch, and shake my head. 

“And I’m calling you Chris. Get the jar and your shit. We’re going.”

“She’s coming too?”

“No. Just, just shut up and stand in the kitchen.” I sigh and lay down on Lena’s couch. She often fell asleep there after a long session of drawing. I take a deep breath and with her exhale rush out to meet my ‘secretary’. I push him to the side, into that other space human souls go when they’re possessed, and don’t have a contract. Then I pause and shrug, and move him to the more violent part of my smoke. So I won’t actively try to destroy him, I could still enjoy a taste.

_“I-Wha-”_

Before he can finish the thought I hear movement from the other room and remember my plan, one I had no idea if it’d work. I snap, focusing my will on the empty husk and how tired it should be from my stay there. The movement stops, I stand still and listen more. Faint snores fill the room. Good, it worked. I snap my art supplies once again into my arms and then snap myself outside. I know Crowley can flit around without snapping, but, hey, I was new at this. 

Outside the storm rages on, a beautiful show of force very few beings could hope to match. Crowley was still no match for nature. Nothing is. Sure, he could withstand it, survive it, maybe even nudge it in a direction. Without a contract, he couldn’t do shit to stop a hurricane. Perhaps when he hit a million he’d have a fighting chance against nature, but for now he might as well wave a fan at it. Perhaps he’d never be able to change things with a thought, being a demon and all. Rules laid down by Dragoness. “Immense power, but only if.” 

I sigh and open the opaque jar containing Lena and she zooms away into her house. Perhaps she saw me, if she was looking, but perhaps not. Either way, it may be hard to get info out of her with all the media attention she’d be getting soon. The art piece I’d just uploaded was so outside her norm it’d be sure to draw attention. I grin. Exactly what Crowley didn’t want. Now…. who to next? Or perhaps a lunch break… I know just the place.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

‘You can’t come in here.” I stand in the wide door of an apparel store. The inside is lined with cream walls and wooden daises of red mahogany.All the clothes on mannequins, nothing is on racks. There is a counter near the front and the man behind it takes a look at Christo’s dirty clothes, and his face scrunches up in disgust.

“Look, I know I’m not dressed well, I’m hoping to change that. My friend suggested a specific tailor, Mr. Reynolds. He-”

“He’s not here.” I narrow my eyes at the plump little man behind the counter of the very expensive clothing store. I straighten my jaw and take a deep breath and begin to walk away.

“Fine, I’ll tell … the king I had to take my business else-”

“K-king… As in... As in Mr. Cr-” I turn back in a flash and put my hand over the man’s mouth.

“You idiot, don’t say his name!” I freeze and quickly remove my hand before backing away. “Look, I’m sure Mr. Reynolds is-”

“No, no. He’s… He’s free in an hour.” I pause and turn around with a smile. 

“Then, you wouldn’t mind if I waited in the back for him, perhaps, out of sight of other customers?” The man looks at me, my clothes, then at the door, and nods. Normally I’d stay here, make him uncomfortable, but I need privacy and a chance to draw. I look at the shorter man and wonder, as he leads me to the back. 

“So, when do you get off?”

“Excuse me?” He looks at me with disgust and I roll my eyes.

“Break, do you get a lunch break?” He sniffs in dismissal.

“Only when Mr. Reynolds returns.” Pity, but probably for the best.

 _“Why?”_ I almost chuckle at Christo’s question.

_“Don’t know the place well enough to hide the body. Also, I don’t want Reynolds to notice anything amiss.”_

_“Do you always… think like this?”_

_“Like what?”_

“You may sit here sir.” The short man points to a chair across a door to a large fitting room. To the left of that slightly ajar door is another, that I do not know where it goes, but I believe another door at the end of this hall leads outside, at least from the sound. I nod, and sit, waiting for him to leave. He does so, with one last look through the door to the main lobby before closing it. As soon as he does I flick a finger and push the door to the fitting room open a bit. 

The inside is as posh as the main room, with a raised platform for fitting and measuring. A tape measure hangs on a chair where a pin cushion sits. Suits like this were even more expensive now, when things of equal quality could be done by machine. Still, there was no substitute for something made by hand for you. I start sketching a suit on a mannequin in there, one that is all black, with a peacoat. I doubt I could get a drawing of the tailor before I kill him, but I could get this, before I destroy it too. 

_“Why?”_

_“Clear questions please.”_

_“Why are you doing this.”_

_“Amusement, petty revenge, fun. Now SHHHHHHH. Drawing.”_

I spend a good fifteen minutes sketching the suit. It’s relaxing, not too difficult. I’m just starting to add shading when the door from the outside creaks open. I pause and look up; a tall pale man in a suit as immaculate as Crowley’s steps in. He has a beard, one that despite having a bushy appearance, looks well kept, but not overly groomed. I hadn’t seen him in ages, Crowley didn’t really change size after all, meat suit speaking. He didn’t need new measurements to be taken. He came in once, and that was it. Mr. Reynolds pauses as well when he sees me, but closes the door and straightens his suit before approaching. 

“How can I help you?”

“You were suggested by a friend of mine, the one who ordered that suit back there I believe.” The man raises a brow at that, and gives me a once over. “The King suggested I come here, said you were the best.” Mr. Reynold straightens a bit at this but nods, gesturing toward the fitting room. I grab my art supplies and follow him inside. I wait as he closes the door, giving the pretense of looking around, but wait till he walks past me and then lock the door quietly. 

_“Why?”_

_“Hungry. Would you prefer I eat you? …. Thought not. Now. Stay.”_ I don’t feel like wasting any time with this. I wouldn’t mind a suit, but dear lord that would take forever. I rush out of Chris towards the tailor and as I do I cringe at the sound behind me.

“Watch out!” Christo’s voice rings through the air and Mr. Reynolds turns towards him, mouth open to ask what’s going on. No sound escapes, I enter. I don’t preamble, I don’t look around, or pry for secrets. I rip the soul into bits completely indelicately, ignoring the wonderful shower of sparks in favor of turning and glaring at the young man behind me. He turns to run but I snap and time stands still for him. I hold him in my grasp as I walk up, glaring. 

“You idiot. Was that instinct, or were you actually being that stupid? Did you think you could help him? The fool was damned anyway! He’s working for the …. He was hell bound before I came along… probably. Well, if not hell bound then- Besides the point!” I stalk around Christo to his front and stare him in the eyes. “Well.”

“It…. it kinda, just happened.” I snarl at his panicked face, the pathetic… ugh. Humans.

“We’ll see.” I twist Reynold’s head around until I feel the snap, very relaxing sound, and exit back to my current host. Before he can take a step as my control fades in smoke form, before Reynold’s body hits the floor, I am back in control. There is a thud and I look at the body, husk, briefly, before taking a closer look at my prisoner. 

I parse his soul, look for his reasons, his wants. It’s difficult, I’m still not as adept as Crowley, but I manage, albeit clunkily. I sigh, it was automatic, the instinct to help others. Still, whether it was intentional or not was… well not beside the point but near at least. 

“Don’t slip up like that again.”

_“I wo-”_

“I know, because you’ll have this reminder.” I rake red ethereal claws into the soul I have come to know fairly well, and am rewarded with a scream. I pull, and rip a small bit off, whisking it away in my own small storm. More a single thundercloud at this point, but still, I make short work of the tiny morsel. I study it, the new memory, before it vanishes into my own thoughts as if it were mine always, slowly fading away as I decide it’s unimportant. “You had a dog when you were five.”

_“No I-”_

“You did, I just took that memory, that bit of you, forever. Fuck up like that again and I’ll take more than a fucking bite, got it? I don’t have time, nor the interest, for long periods of torture or games with you. I will be blunt, and to the point. You, obey me and I’ll make sure that when you go, you go quickly. If you’re REAL well behaved I won’t go after your family either. Get it? Got it? Good. Now, quiet, I have a scene to set.” I feel his soul cower away into quiet observance and nod. Good. I look around the room and ponder. The suit of course, but any special way? I go over to inspect it and on the way have a thought. I suppose I did get a new obsession as a demon, my game with Crowley. The obsession was a long time coming I suppose, even before I started to turn red, black, …. Demony. I have a curse, but my vice is this game and the artful thought that goes into playing it.

I circle the suit. I can’t just… rip it, or burn it. He could repair that easily. No, i have to do something to it that would make him not Want to wear it. But what?... I suppose I could just burn it to ash except for one small piece, but how boring. Wait. Of course. I grab a piece of paper from by sketch pad and scribble a few words on it. A simple query.

 _“Really? ‘Are you sure you want to wear this?’ What are you going to do to it?”_ I grin as I slip the paper into the pocket. 

“Nothing, his imagination will do far worse things than I can, or perhaps simply not knowing will make it unbearable.”

_“And if he calls your bluff?”_

“Then he will have a reminder that this is the last suit ever to be made by his current favorite tailor, because of me. That might come to bite me later, but for now I’ll just enjoy the possibilities.” I turn back toward the body on the floor, there has to be more I can do to set this scene… I look through the fleeting thoughts I’ve gained, the suit isn’t due to be picked up for a few days, and not even by Crowley… I want him to come here personally. What to do? How to lure him here? ...I’m still parsing through memories when I get the idea. Memories, a reference to the past.

I take out Mr. Reynolds phone and look up something. It takes a few, but I manage to find a full recording of the episode I want, after looking up the episode number of course. I find the correct time, and scribble something down on the bottom of the drawing.

“Season 5, episode 20, 6:03.” As soon as I do I have a thought, and smile. I erase it, or start to, then decide I might as well leave it, for clarity. I take Mr. Reynolds phone and dial a number I have only ever dialed once before. It takes a few moments, and during that time I ponder switching phones, using mine and taking Reynolds’ so he has to look it up. I decide that’s a wonderful idea, and hang up before the call connects. However, I don’t want to take Reynolds’ phone, he probably could track it…

I leave the fitting room and close the door behind me, quickly peeking out the door to the main area. The short man is still there, or perhaps back from his break. Someone else is there too, not ideal, but I’ll make do. Perhaps this will be better.

_“Why are you going through all this trouble? What the hell is Supernatural?”_

_“Old TV show, shut the fuck up.”_

_“Why are you even-”_

_“Keeping you? So you can control this body when I’m not in it. Soulless people are unpredictable.”_ I wave to the clerk at the front until he notices me, a quick unhappy look graces his face before vanishing as he excuses himself from helping the other gentleman. He walks over quickly, pushing his face into the doorway so I am out of sight.

“What?”

“Can we borrow your phone? Mr. Reynold’s kinda crapped out, and mine is-”

“Fine, very well.” He grabs the projector off his wrist and pushes a button on it to allow me access. He shoves it into my hand and is pushing me further through the door when I think of another question.

“Do… do you have the King’s number on your phone.” He looks at me as if I’m insane and shakes his head as he closes the door in my face.

“Of course not, only the tailor has client’s private numbers.” Excellent. Kind of.

_“Why?”_

I’m apparently getting better at hiding my thoughts if Christo doesn’t know.

“Because, now I don’t have to kill the clerk and the man in the store.”

 _“Isn’t that a good thi- oh.”_ I chuckle as I open the phone and dial the number once again. It rings, and rings, and rings. I’m getting nervous, if he’s tracing it…

“Hello, how can I be of service, and how did You Get This Number?!” I grin. 

“Hello, I have a message for the king.”

“How wonderful, I never would have guessed. What is it, and who is this? Quickly, before I get impatient.”

“Season 5, episode 20, about 6 minutes in.” Silence on the other end, I go to hang up but stop as I hear a response.

“Chew Toy…. what did you do?”

“You’ll find out. See-”

“Don’t you d-” I hang up and drop the phone on the seat outside the room, then think better of it and take it with me. Inside, I break it, and Reynold’s and drop them in a pile. It may take a bit longer to trace, enough time for him to have to look up that little clue. I dust my hands, lock the door again, and with one last look at my newest art installation, snap myself away.


	48. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is much bullshitting.

I sigh happily at my newest art piece. It’s been a few weeks since my last one, so it was high time to make another splash. I smile again at the blood on the screen. Crowley would fucking hate it. After all, it’s him in the purest sense of the word. His symbol, in the book, in summonings, and…. On my contract. I knew it like the back of my hand. It was burned into my soul after all. Not only did I see it when I signed the contract all those years ago, but for hundreds of years it floated in and out of existence in that cell where Crowley kept his contracted souls. 

I modified it of course, hid it a bit amidst other fake symbols, but it was there. And being put up by an artist who specialized in portraits, it was sure to be noticed. The man was 80, had years upon years of experience in 3d digital painting in VR suites and in oils. So a symbol, albeit a very realistic looking one, was sure to make as big a splash as his death. Not my fault… kinda. He’d had a heart attack when he saw the red smoke burst from Christo. I was planning on killing him, but… well he really was dead now. The body feels different, being dead. It feels cold around me, I don’t like it.

As I upload this painting to his website, listing it for sale at a meager $400 next to his $50,000 3d portraits, I listen for my secretary. I’d have to get rid of him soon… Ok I Should get rid of him soon. The longer he stays the more he knows, the more chances he has to find out things, fuck up my own shit. Although he didn’t seem inclined to, for fear of me killing his friends and family.

Christo is on the couch, on his phone as usual. I can hear the faint hum of energy from the projected hard light as he pushes the manifested buttons.

“So, any information on the last art piece?”

There’s no hesitation, he had already looked it up. He was just waiting for me to ask, having thought better of interrupting me while I worked. Of course, this piece took only a few hours, what with presets and tools available. 

“Yeah. It was bought near immediately for ….$10,000 and taken down. However images of it are already all over the web. What the fuck is it?”

“Do you want truth that will endanger you and tempt you? Or blissful ignorance?”

“You’re gonna kill me anyway...so.” I swivel in the chair to look at him, the smile of the old man far to kind for my thoughts.

“What makes you say that?”

“You’ve thought as much.” I curse. I really need to learn how to hide my thoughts. “So, you might as well tell me.”

“Yes but-” I freeze. I feel something I haven’t felt before, a wholly unwelcome feeling. Another demon was nearby. I curse and burst out of the corpse and into Christo. “Time to go.”

_ “What? Why? And I thought you didn’t want to leave bodies” _

I don’t respond to his thoughts, I just snap and think of anywhere but here. The trees are oak and spread shade on the street and sidewalk of the houses. Many here are old, not rounded, from before the ‘Wind Era” as it’s called in the history books. All of them are inside plastic domes topped with curved solar panels and vents for cooling. A historic district. 

_ “Hey, I thought you didn’t want to leave bodies?”  _ I snort as I take out his phone. 

“That was such an obvious lie I didn’t think you took it seriously. I suppose I should examine your soul more closely on occasion but I find I’ve been a bit busy. Too many, I don’t want to leave Too Many bodies.” I take a look at the phone and G-Earth Maps, and curse. This is the last place I want to be. 

Jersey.

_ “Why n-”  _ I push Christo away and try to put a wall around my mind, shut him out from my existence. I walk along the sidewalks of Haddonfield New Jersey, even more expensive property than back when I lived in Jersey. It was far closer to the beach than it had been back then after all. I sigh and shake my head, heading for one of the few places I know won’t have cameras. Hopefully any that saw me appearing will count it as a glitch. 

I walk through the main part of town; here the buildings Had changed. They were forced to. They were too close together to put bubbles around, so they had to be retrofitted or rebuilt with curved tops. It’s bizarre, but not important. What’s important is the myriad of demons I can feel around me. Crowley knew I had history here, he also knew I was too smart to come back. He wasn’t taking chances however, and it had paid off. 

I can feel eyes on my back and find myself in a very big dilemma. I can’t go to the forest now, I'd be alone with no protection. I can’t bamf away here, they’d know it’s me if I did that with such callous disregard for subtlety. And then, they’d know this vessel’s face, and then could track him with his DNA in the system. I’d grown partial to Christo, I wasn’t ready to part with him quite yet. I also can’t talk to them, I can’t risk the fact that there might be some code or something, although codes weren’t really Crowley’s thing….however… If I could take one in a fight. No, I don’t really feel like tussling around in someone’s mind, if that’s a thing that happens.

I might really be stuck. Perhaps I could go into a home and- Holy Shit the Happy Hippo is still here. I stand at the corner and stare. The building is completely different; but the logo, the sign, all still there. Hundreds of years and this place was still here. Holy fuck. I wait for the light to change and cross the street. The bell dings as the door opens and it’s as if I’m in the past. Dolls, trains, cheap plastic toys… and legos. Of course legos were now hard light projections you could download into the base lego projector, to save and turn off when you’re done. No more stepping on sharp edges in the middle of the night. Pfft, parent’s today didn’t know how good they had it. 

“Can I help you?” I pause and look at the cashier. Thirty something, but hints of grey in her hair. Dealing with kids can be stressful. I smile and shake my head. 

“No thank you. Just looking around.” I pause as I hear Christo’s heavy accent mixing with my voice from when I was alive, and smile. I walk around the shelves, feeling the currents of magic. No demons, in here, the lady was in the clear, and so was I… I think. I walk through the isles of toys and look at the ceiling. Whether or not there were cameras would determine if I could escape here. I take a sigh of relief when there are only two, pointed at the front door. I go back to the corner of the store, smiling at the barbies in different skin tones and the lego projectors toting some new kids show’s school house. The more things change… I take a breath, raise my hand, and snap.

And off I don’t go. I spit and curse. Of course there would be something preventing teleportation Out of the town. Fuck. Shit. FuckingcuntingballsfuckARGH.

_ “You… ok?”  _ I take a deep breath and swallow.

_ “No. We’re trapped, and if we’re found, we will both suffer greatly. Do you have anything to pay for a cab with?” _

_ “A what?” _

_ “Uh… transportation. Uber. Train. Something.” _

_ “Yeah. I got a card for my stock portfolio. Use my app, Teletrans.”  _

_ “You’ve been Very helpful. I’ll try to make your death painless.” _

_ “How nice of you.”  _

_ “Be happy I’m only keeping you here, and not placing you next to someone.”  _ Although that might slow his demise…

_ “Slow my, what?!” _

_ “Ugh, I need to get better at making that voice silent. You have a choice Christo, ugh, just actively thinking it gives me a headache. Any way, you have a choice, be alone and fade from existence, or share your hell with another soul, knowing they will meet that fate instead of you. Do you Want that choice? No. I didn’t think so. Besides, I have no patience for torture of…. Well I guess I haven’t tried it, but I don’t really feel like it. Now shush, I’m finding us a way out of-”  _ I pause and curse as I feel a presence. A demon, but not Crowley. I’d be able to tell if it was Crowley…. Right. Pfft, like he’d hide it. That’d be ….easy… Of course, I am threatening to topple his anonymity in the mortal world, which would take a Very long time to fix. Maybe he would do easy, fuck. Man, hiding in a soul would sure come in fucking handy right now. 

The door jingles and I curse. I can’t teleport. I can’t run. I can’t hide. I can’t fight. That leaves …. Talking. I pull up the phone and open the app and enter my location then enter… South Street in Philly as the destination. It didn’t matter if I went there or not, it wasn’t like the driver would come out of this alive. The request is accepted… five minutes. I have to stall for five minutes. I look at the phone and smile. Three, I had to stall for three. … Perhaps. I think. No. The phone is traceable. I look at the door. A big man, suit, brown, brown hair, sunglasses. No obvious weapons, not that a demon needed em. He looks muscular, shit. Traditional brute, they suspect something. Too many options of what to do. Decision paralysis. I head behind the end of some shelves to make some time.

“Welcome to Happy Hippo, can I help you?” The cashier asks once again. There is no reply, but there is a slight exhale of breath from the cashier, she is alive still, if upset at the rudeness of a nonverbal response. I take a breath and wait. I’ll go with the plan I had, maybe it’d work. I need a burner phone… one without a GPS chip. I have a feeling just turning off GPS won’t do shit. 

The man rounds the corner and stands in front of me. I’m 5.6 ft, and I feel short. Can’t hesitate.

“You got a traceable phone?” The demon raises an eyebrow at the question. “Look, it’s a simple question. You look like you’re on … you look like you’re high on the ladder, so you probably have one.” I just realized, if this guy was important, Crowley would know the dude’s location, and calling him on that phone right now would be mucho stupido. Still, I had started this path. I look at my phone. Four minutes thirty seconds. 

“Yes. But I’m not the one under scrutiny here. We weren’t expecting any new recruits, so who are you?”

“Not a fucking recruit obviously. I got a fucking hunter on my tail for a murder I for once didn’t commit!”

“So? Deal with it.”

“He’s insane! He has no regard for keeping things a secret and has a trace on my phone.”

“Ditch the phone you idiot.” 

“I can’t, it has info on it that in the wrong hands-”

“Then destroy it!”

“Fuck no! There’s info on here that is important!”

“Upload it to the cloud.”

“And risk it getting hacked or seen by somebody who isn’t the king!” At this the demon narrows his eyes.

“Our cloud is secure, everyone knows that.”

“Well excuse me for being paranoid! Look, I just don’t want him in on my calls and...and, getting this info before I get it to the king!”

“And just what is this sensitive info?” He leans over me and I snarl. I have an idea, this could create a lot of misdirection… if it succeeds.

“Info on turncoats. Persona non-grata numero uno is rallying people-”

“Who?” I freeze, then slowly smile.

“You have no idea why you’re even here do you?” He frowns.

“Oh, that.” I do a quick 180 and get back on topic.

“Great, then you know that if they are rallying people, it’s BAD. I have names, locations, faces.” I take a quick look at the phone. Still 4 minutes, shit. “So you see why I can’t let anyone get their hands on this. A hunter could start to work with them, or worse…” I shudder for effect. “Kill them.”

“And why would that be bad?” I widen my eyes and back away from the idiot. 

“W-why? WHY? You idiot! If they’re dead then the king can’t get his revenge, he loses his fucking toy! Who do you think he’ll be taking that out on? Hmm? The people who failed!” I throw up my hands in disbelief and begin to walk away grumbling about idiots. 

“Hey, I ain’t done talking with you.” I sigh at the deep voice and turn around. I hadn’t actually wanted to leave yet, but this had to seem realistic.

“Yeah, well, unless you’re gonna give me your phone so I can call the king to report in with-”

“How bout I call him.” I blurt out the first reason that comes to my head why it won’t work.

“Do you have the codes?”

“Codes?”

“Yes! Passcodes, check codes, so he knows the information isn’t compromised.”

“King doesn’t use codes, I’m getting a-”

“Exactly! He doesn’t use them! So who would suspect an operative of using them!”

“Why you telling me all this, if it’s so secret.” I sigh and shake my head.

“Because you’re going to die any way because you kept me here so long that the hunter has probably triangulated the location of my phone and is on his way.” The other demon rolls his eyes. “What were you planning on doing with me anyway? Torturing me to find out if I’m the demon you’re looking for?” The other demon chuckles.

“No. Any demon out of place gets sent back to Hell, to check in with the King, a personal little get together.” That is not good.

“Great, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, gathering information-”

“Then you won’t mind checking in with the King.”

“I don’t have time! There’s a rally-”

“I ain’t heard of no rally, or gathering offensive.”

“Of course not, they’re keeping it quiet! She’s sneaky!”

“She….?” Shit. Gotta roll with it.

“Yes, she. Found that out too. She’s sneaky and dangerous.”

“Find that hard to believe. Everyone Knows she Just got turned into a demon. She’s green as an emerald.”

“Yeah, an emerald who sat next to a finely cut ruby for 500 years!”

“Just cus she knows what to do, don’t mean she can do it.” Gods that was so true. Still, it told me something. I smile again, slowly. 

“You…. don’t know what she is do you?” The demon looks at me quizzically. “You don’t. Ok. That’s, fine that the king hasn’t told any one yet. Sure.” I throw up my hands and pace nervously. Not hard with the pressure I’m under.

“Told us what?” I shake my head.

“No. King hasn’t told anyone, so it’s not my place to share it. I’m not dying because I disobeyed his fucking orders.”

“Tell me or I’ll-”

“What? Beat me? Take me to him? What?” I start to pace faster, widening my stride and the length of my trail. I look at my phone, 1 minute. Might as well be for fucking ever. I continue pacing. The demon snarls and takes out his phone. Or more accurately shakes his wrist to manifest it. He presses a single button and my stomach sinks. It all happens so quickly I can’t even react or I might have actually attempted to possess his body and fight him that way.

_ “Ohhhh shit, he’s calling the king isn’t he.” _

_ “Most likely Chris, yes.”  _

The demon holds his wrist up and his whole body straightens even though Crowley isn’t there to see. 

_ “Wait, Crowley is the king!?” _

_ “Shut up. Yes.”  _ Christopher struggles a little bit, distracting me. 

_ “You’re fighting the king of hell! Lucifer!” _

_ “Lucifer is dead. Fortunately.” _

_ “What? How? Why?” _

_ “Later! Unless you want to meet the current king, shut up! Stop questioning me!”  _ I slam down on Christo, sending pain through every fiber of his being and mine, a dizzying experience for someone unused to it. 

“-says they’re doin some type of recon. Being chased by a hunter who don’t care about keepin stuff secret. Yeah, agree that’s even more a reason to take em out, admit that might make it trick-. …. Pologies my king. Of course.” The demon holds up his wrist and flicks it, and the holophone on my wrist comes to life with the call. Shit. This is not a thing I knew about. I stand in silence for about three seconds before bringing my wrist up. 

“My-my liege.”

“Chew Toy.”

“No sir.”

“Then who are you? Your lack of surprise at that name gives you away.”

“No sir. I’m Rani’s intelligence agent.” There is silence. 

“She has no reports on you, no money expenditures.”

“Everything is off the books. I only work in paper when handing over information. Since I have not heard from her for a few days she dictated I should report to you with my most recent findings. I was gather-“

“No. Ranni didn’t keep information on her agents private. She-“ I look up at a sound and sigh in relief. A car had pulled up. I look back at the demon and nod holding up a finger and walking to the door. I’m barely, I’m not even listening to Crowley. I’m just thankful this demon was not as important as I thought he was. 

Before the demon can react I’ve calmly left the store and then dashed into the waiting car. I hit mute on the phone, hanging up would cause suspicion and talk to the driver. Not a demon, thankfully. 

“From out of town?”

“Yeah, Camden.” I look at the driver, well dressed young man with olive skin and green eyes. I nod. 

“Drive around, randomly. No stoplights, no highways. I’ll pay you double. Hit a stoplight, and I-“ shit I’m in the back seat. I slide over so I’m behind him, and place my hand in his shoulder, better than nothing. “Hit a stoplight and I’ll kill you.”

“ _ You’re gonna kill him anyway.” _

_ “He’s seen our pretty face.” _

_ “You’re hungry.” _

_ “That too.” _

“Chew Toy!” The yell from the phone and I unmute it quickly before replacing my hand on the young man’s shoulder. I lean forward and whisper in his ear. 

“Drive. Now.” And squeeze my hand. I’m rewarded with a slight bit of crunching and a wince and I nod before raising the phone back up again. 

“Hello Mark.” I can practically hear the cringe on the other end. I’d never called him that before and am curious as to how he’ll react. 

“You. Ate. My. Tailor.” His voice is quiet, and hot with anger. I chuckle. 

“Oh good, you found the episode. How long did it take you?”

“More time than it will take to track this phone!”

“Time to go then.” He keeps talking, and I decide to risk being on the phone a bit longer. I missed his voice. The driver has taken turn upon turn, not going anywhere, but hopefully making it just a bit harder to bamf into the car. 

“Having fun are you? This little game of yours? Running around making sub par art?”

“What, you’re not enjoying the game? You can’t say you aren’t enjoying the art. I thought my last piece was very flattering.”

“It was fairly accurate, but I’ve grown since then.”

“I know. Around the middle too I suppose?”

“Among other places.”

“Good for you. Toodles.”

“When I win this stupid game of chess I will end it by crushing you with the board Chew Toy! I-“

I end the call then and there, deciding risking any more time for tracing it would be a bad idea. I pull the sdx card with memory out of the bracelet and throw the phone bracelet out the window. I grin as moments later I hear cursing from around the corner. It’s broad daylight, popping into random cars would not be rather conspicuous. But just in case that demon got a look at the car I was in...and the face I’m wearing. I should probably change it. I look at the driver, considering my options when Chris’s thoughts loudly interrupt my own as he mentally speaks.. 

“ _ The...King of Hell.”  _ I chuckle at his statement.

_ “Yes indeed.” _

_ “You’re fighting, playing a game with-“  _ I smile and shake my head at Chris’s shock and sudden fear as he realizes who I’ve been painting, playing, and poking at. I pause and snap my art supplies once again into my arms, wanting them with me for the evening, intent on sketching something. 

_ “Yes.”  _

_ “WHY?” _

_ “I owe it to him to fuck up some of his shit.”  _ Over 300 years of IOU’s was quite a lot to pay back, but I was sure a sin gonna try.

_ “Won’t he torture you!?” _

_ “Hmmm. I don’t know. Do I think THE KING OF HELL, will torture me for fucking with his shit?”  _ I feel Chris shrink at my acerbic sarcasm.  _ “Of course he fucking is, but I doubt anything I haven’t experienced before. And if it is, well, that will be interesting.” _

_ “You’re insane!” _

_ “Quite. Now if-”  _ I’m about to tell the driver to pull into an serendipitously empty parking lot when I feel a tug behind my gut, and I’m gone. 

At least whoever is summoning me saved me cab fare.

(Note to my readers. Sorry for the long wait, I'm a little stuck in a corner with my writing about where it should go next. What the artist will do and how she'll escape from the mess she's about to get into. I think it may involve a pencil, but I'm not sure. So there may be a bit of a wait. Don't worry, I am NOT abandoning this fic, the ending is written, at least 3-4 more chapters are planned. I'm just having trouble bridging the gap between the story arcs. Thanks all, stay safe and Away from Crowley.)


	49. The Pleading Grandmother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In witch there is a sketch.

I shake my head, getting my bearings. I’ve never been summoned before. 

“Becca, or should I say, Shahaerisaad.” I pause at the voice and turn in the old dilapidated basement. I know the voice, and I certainly know the red hair that seems brilliantly and beautifully out of place in the dusty room filled with desks. I look at her in the flickering light of an old dying bulb and smile.

“Rowena.”

We stare at each other from across the room, not really knowing what to do. I didn’t really want to fight her, I think I’d miss her when I turned human again, if I even had a chance at beating her.

_ “Wait, you’re thinking that far ahead? And who is that?” _

_ “I turned into a demon, that doesn’t mean my anxiety went away. I’m always thinking three steps ahead, and then another twenty minus the 17 between them. It’s fun. Still, there are pros and cons to killing her, or fighting her.” _

_ “Like?” _

_ “Like there’s a 90% chance I’d fucking lose. She’s Crowley’s Mom and a powerful witch to boot. I have to outthink her, and that will be hard on it’s own. But first. More important things.”  _ Rowena tenses as I bring up my arm and hold out my thumb in front of my face.

“Hold very still please.” I say as I close one eye. Rowena looks incredulous then angry that I’d think she’d be stupid enough to listen.

“And why in the nine Hells would I even consider that?” I bring up my other hand with a pencil, which I waggle.

“Because when have I ever had the chance to draw you before?” My words echo as I kneel down and grab my sketchbook from the bag I had pulled toward me when I felt that first tingle.

“Really, at a time like this? When I could have Fergus here in a second?”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

“This is nae fun! Yer intent on killin my son!” I laugh out loud and lean on the old metal table I’ve dropped my supplies on.

“Rowena, you know me better than that! I have no intention of killing him!”

“Then messin op his plans!”

“I have no intention of doing that either! Well, not anything to do with his contract with me.”

“And why not?!”

“Because all that would do is give more people access to the ability! Too many unkillable demons wandering about to challenge his authority. Enough of them would be unpleasant for the world, and more importantly, me. Besides, it’s too late. I’m not sure he even needs the contracts anymore. His bones are gone, he has millions of souls under the belt, do I really need to do a recap here Rowena? I’m just here to play a game and annoy him for a bit.” Rowena stares and I sigh. 

“Look, can I at least just draw you for a bit? Is that really gonna harm you?” Rowena pauses and nods and I sit down, postulating on escape plans. I couldn’t just leave, she has my name and symbol, which she could give to Crowley. I can’t beat her in a fight…

_ “She really that powerful?” _

_ “Yes.” _

“Well, now that I’ve confirmed my suspicion that ye aren’t really out to ‘arm im, just cause trouble-” I roll my eyes at her claim. 

“Really, that was some good acting back there then.”

“I’m an amazing actress.”

“Depends on what yer.. you’re trying to hide I suppose. Now what do you want Rowena?” I say as I start sketching the basic outline of a ¾ angle face. Bitch keeps pacing and moving. “Stop. Moving. I can’t draw you if you Keep Moving.” Rowena huffs but stands still. Giving me a target, if that did any good. She’d just go back to hell, to Crowley.

“Ye have my son all het up lass.”

“What?”

“Agitated! How do ye not know this word?”

“Ah’m, I’m American! And yeah he’s agitated. I’ve been pretty damn annoying. So, you’re gonna kill me to curry favor?”

“Good lord no! I know better than ta get in tha middle of a lover’s spat.” My pencil freezes and I look up.

“A what?”

“A lovers quarrel darling.” The nub of my pencil snaps as I try to process this. 

“Lovers? You have to be joking. He’s been torturing me for hundreds of years.”

“”E likes you, why else would “e have kept ya round so long?”

“Because I amuse him and apparently come in handy to bounce ideas off of?”

“Tsk. ‘E has advisors for that.”

“Yeah. That could betray him… although I suppose that’s less likely now.” I sigh and start sketching again. “So why are you here then??” Rowena sighs and sits down, eliciting a growl as her movement once again changes the angle I was drawing. I sigh and get my sharpener out from the bag, my xacto knife. I start whittling away while she talks, smiling briefly at some ideas racing through my head as the small blade carves through the wood. 

“You’re a strong independent woman… now that yer a demon. Remind me of me self at your age, you know how to gain a lads interest. A mother worries about her children, I won’t be around forever. And my boy needs someone to keep him from excess.”

“Excess? Keep him? You act like he actually listens to me. Or anyone.” I set down the blade in my lap beside the bag and get the sandpaper out to smooth one side of the pencil flat for shading hair. 

“Yer sarcasm doesn’t become ya. Anyway, a mother worries for ‘er son. A king, without a queen. I won’t be ‘ere forever ye know.”

“What? No! And yes, you literally will! You’re dead!”

“Minor details. Fergus Needs a queen lass. And Ah Need grandchildren!”

_ “Can demons even have children?” _

“Good point. Can demons even have children?”

“I don know! But that shouldn’t stop ye from tryin!” Rowena pauses. “Do ye have company?”

“....Yes.” 

“Oh goody. And what’s their name?”

“I… can’t say it. I’m calling him Chris.”

_ “Wait, that’s why you’re calling me Chris? Cause you can’t say Christo?” _

_ “Yes. It’s the true name of God, although that might be Chuck depending on who you ask.” _

“Really? You possessed someone named Christo?!” I flinch. Ugh, I hate that.

“Yessss. He was available.”

_ “Wait, so If I think my name, will it hurt you? Cuz I’m in your head? Christo. Christo.” _

_ “No. But it makes me uncomfortable and sometimes nauseous! Same with me speak-thinking it or whatever. Now Do shut up.”  _ I swallow and gain my bearings as I look at Rowena, who is waiting patiently. 

“Done with yer mental conversation dear? Good. Now. Ye and my son.”

“No! Gods no. Rowena, there are so many reasons this won’t work!”

“Well, better you than that Dragoness.”

“She’s like his mother too! And before you ask, Hell no I ain’t tellin you. Ask yer son.” Rowena sighs, hands on hip eyes looking falsely sad as she trains her gaze on the ground forlornly.

“Fine, I suppose I’ll jest ‘ave tah call Fergus up now and-”

“Fine. Fine! I’ll consider it.” Rowena smiles widley and claps her hands together.

“Oh good! Now we can talking courting techniques.”

“I… what?”

“Jest keep doin what yer doin. But nothin too harmful to his plans and no more eaten his allies!”

“But I’m hungry, and they’re tasty. Jest, just one more?”

“Nay. ...Who.”

“....Sara?”

“NAY! Not a ‘air on any of the bunker dweller’s ‘eads. ‘E’s worked too ‘ard on that place. Besides, that's where Sammy and Dean are hunkerin down till they ‘ave word of ye.” I pause and look up from the sketch.

“Reaally. And how are they?”

“Very angry about Bobby.”

“Duh. It’s weird tho, I can’ find him.”

“What?”

“Well, he should be with the souls I’ve taken… theoretically. I doubt I completely destroyed him in 12 seconds on my first attempt. Not even Crowley could do that. But he’s not here. So. I mean… Maybe the souls, even their memories, just vanish when Crowley finally destroys them… maybe just vanish. No. They can’t. He knows too much stuff.” I shake my head and go back to the sketch. I hate drawing hair. So hard to draw. Rowena’s is actually a bit easier, with all the volume and curls it’s easier to find shapes to sketch. “Whatever. I-“

“Well, back to courtin plans.”

“What? Ugh, Rowena.”

“Darlin. You’re the only other demon like him who can destroy souls. Ye have tha curse too! You understand each other.”

“Like a prisoner understands warden that’s just as addicted to crack as he is, sure.” Rowena rolls her eyes and huffs.

“Either listen to my suggestions or I get my son right now.”

“Fine. What was ‘court in’ like back when you were young.”

“Don’t matter. It’s what my son is interested in. Now. What’s your next plan?” I blink. 

“I…you. But. Rowena, I’m really fucking insulted you think I’d tell you my plans. You may not be hurting me but I definitely don’t think you’re my ally.” Rowena huffs.

“I just want my son to have a family!”

“He’s had two!”

“One that I can interact with! Now. Plan?” I sigh. 

“I’m planning to draw a few portraits of him. Fergus. Demon. His meat suit. All on the same canvas. I’m not telling you more than that.” Rowena raises a brow. 

“Are ye sure that’s wise dearie?”

“Nobody fucking cares. Although people might start to put things together if they see the demon face twice…” I shrug and go back to sketching. “He should switch bodies soon. The demons who serve him have seen him enough in demon form to relate that with him no matter what or who he wears now. A few are downright terrified. It's pretty funny.”

“Funny?”

“Well, when you know how big of a 180 he’s pulled it’s impressive but the dichotomy of it just makes you laugh.” Rowena huffs and ignores me. 

“Darlin. Look. You need to pull off something he’ll be impressed by but will nay hurt him. This art is just annoying him.”

“Me staying one step ahead of him is driving him mad.”

“Yes. But it’s not very impressive.” I blink. She’s not wrong. I mean, yeah, it’s impressive I’m doing it, but to him… ehhh.

“Was taking out two of his friends under his nose impressive?”

“What? Ye mean his tailor and that old vampire? I could have done that.”

“Rowena. That is. Not helpful. You’re extraordinarily powerful. Saying you could have done it could mean what I did was impressive.” Rowena smiles and primps her hair a bit, changing the shadows in it much to my chagrin. 

“True. Any hired mook with the right intel could have done it.”

“There we go. Alright. I have a few ideas. But I need info. And for you to stand goddamn still so I can finish this!”

“Hmph. How do the models stay still this long?”

“Practice and money. Now. I just need to know one thing to start. Has Crowley changed his schedule much since this all started? I mean, any appointments he made before hand, did he cancel?”

“I dinnae think so. With your behavior and pull towards art, he saw no need to, also could be baitin a trap.”

“Even after I killed his tailor?” She pauses in thought a moment, but with a sideways glance at my moving pencil decides against shaking her head.

“Nay, not that I know aboot. After all, it was a tailor, not him or any big scheme.”

“Great. Then I have a very sexy sensual prank I can pull on him.” Rowena’s eyes glint. 

“Oh? Do tell.”

“And risk him finding out from you? No thank you. Look, you trust me not to kill him? Because like I fucking could anyway? He’s been stabbed with angel blades till he looked like a porcupine and been fine, and I certainly don’t have one so...”

“Yes, but his plans-“

“Are too far along. The hardy boys and angels want me dead or to spill info which won’t help because they can’t stop him from making deals. ...Maybe I could go to them and let them capture me, but I don’t know half of Crowley’s schemes, and the halfblood angel is going to go through with it anyway. Crowley will literally eat them alive. Fuck it, he has.”

“Yes. That was a bit cruel to do to Robert…”

“Rowena. It was fucking hilarious. But, do I sense a bit of sadness there? Did you want him for yourself?” I wag my pencil as I tease.

“Not my type darlin.” 

“Poor?”

“Uninterested. He’s loved twice and it hurt him twice. He’s done with love.”

“Oh yeah. Because it’s always been about love with you. Now. Would you kindly let me go? I’m hungry and I happen to like my passenger. He knows when to shut up, so I’d rather not devour him accidentally.”

_ “Wait what?” _

I ignore Christo and set the drawing pad down, dusting pencil shavings and graphite dust off from my sharpener. 

“Unless you’d care to volunteer to help Rowena.”

“What? Let ya eat me?”

“I meant lure someone here, but sure why not.” Rowena scoffs. 

“I dinnae think so lass. And I’m a bit hurt ye’d consider it. Eatin your future mother in law.”

“First off. Demon. Second, oh it would piss Crowley off so much that he wasn’t the one to do it. Third, it may not have been much of a power boost for him, but a witch’s soul has to have a bit of a kick.”

“True. I’d be surprised if Ah didn’. So ye’ll pardon me if I don let ye out quite yet.”

“Well, before ye, you go what can you do to prevent Crowley from finding my name in the book? Tear the page out?”

“Not possible dearie. All I can do is say I’m still lookin.” I sigh and set my pencil case to the side and stand, holding out the finished drawing with one hand. 

“Fine. I’ll get out after you leave. But first, care to take a look?” Rowena shrugs and begins to walk over. 

“I doubt ye can get out with out my help, but we’ll figure out something darling.” She stops, squints at the drawing, then takes a few steps forward. She stares at the shading and shapes, annoyed and confused. “What’s this rubbish? It barely looks like me at all!”

“It’s a preliminary. Shows where shading is, where the basic lines go and what direction the light is coming from. I need a lot more time and someone that doesn’t move to get the level of detail I want. And, I can get out fine.” With a smile I throw the xacto knife as hard as I can at the line on the floor. The crumbling concrete shouldn’t yield to such a flimsy thing, but with a bit of demon strength, perhaps I’ll be in luck that I remember this scene from the show. 

The xacto slides into the concrete and sigil crackles red. I jump and do the most startling thing I can think of. My lips cover hers and the spell dies on them as she gasps wide in surprise and disgust. Exactly what I’d hoped, and red smoke pours out and rushes toward her mouth. 

And hits a wall that isn’t there. I bounce back home and squeeze as hard as I can. I doubt my psychic or telekinetic prowess was anywhere near enough to do anything to this woman. But I could prevent her from reaching any ingredients. 

“Really dear, that’s all ye’ve got? Did ye really think Fergus would let me out in a vessel that could be possessed?” I wink at her with a grin on my lips.

“Can’t blame me for tryin. Keep the sketch.” I snap my fingers as quickly as she reaches for her pocket, but I’m gone before the spell leaves her lips.


End file.
